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'     THE  LIFE  AND  GENIUS  OF  CALDERON. 


Works  hy  the  Rev.  R.  C.  Trench,  B.D. 

IX    UNIFORM    STYLE    WITH    THIS    VOLUME. 
I. 

ON    THE    STUDY    OF    WORDS. 

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II. 

ON   THE    LESSONS   IN   PROVERBS. 

1  vol.  ISmo.  Price  50  cents. 
III. 

SYNONYMS  OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT. 

1  vol.  12cno.  Price  75  cents. 

IV. 

ENGLISH,   PAST   AND    PRESENT. 

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V. 

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VI. 

CALDERON,    HIS    LIFE   AND    GENIUS, 

WITH  SPECIMENS  OF  HIS  PLAYS. 

1  vol.  ISmo.  Price  7.'5  cents. 

PUBLISHED  BY  J.  S.  REDFIELD,  NEW  YORK. 


C  A   L  D  E  R  O  N 


HIS  LIFE  AND  GENIUS 


SPECIMENS   OF    HIS   PLAYS 


RICHARD  CHENEVIX  TRENCH,  B.D. 

AUTHOR   OF     "  THE   STUDY   OF  WOEDS"— "  ENGLISH,   PAST   AND   PEKSKNT" — "  LESSONS 
ON  PE0VKBB8" — "SYNONYMS   OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT" — "POEMS,"   ETC 


RBDFIELD 

34    BEEKMAN    STREET,    NEW    YORK 

1856 


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PREFACE. 


These  translations  have  lain  by  me  for  nearly  twice 
the  nine  years  during  which  Horace  recommended 
that  a  poem  should  remain  in  its  author's  power. 
They  formed  part  of  a  larger  scheme  long  ago  con- 
ceived ;  but  in  the  carrying  out  of  which  I  presently 
discovered  inner  difficulties ;  not  to  say  that  it  would 
have  required,  as  I  also  soon  was  aware,  a  far  greater 
amount  of  time  and  labor  than  I  was  either  willing 
or  had  a  right  to  bestow  upon  it.  The  scheme  was 
consequently  laid  aside.  At  the  same  time  I  did  not 
lay  aside  the  hope  of  rescuing  a  few  portions  of  my 
work  from  the  absolute  oblivion  to  which  the  remain- 
der, written  and  unwritten,  was  consigned ;  and  of 
preparing  these,  if  ever  a  convenient  time  should 
arrive,  for  the  press.  The  time  was  long  in  arriving. 
It  is,  however,  these  portions  which,  with  a  few  later 


6  PREFACE. 

revisions,  and  here  and  there  a  gap  filled  up,  consti- 
tute the  verse  translations  occupying  the  latter  half 
of  this  little  volume. 

A  first  sketch  of  the  Memoir  prefixed  to  these 
translations  dates  back  to  the  same  period.  I  could 
not,  however,  let  this  go  forth  without  seeking  to 
bring  up  at  least  its  literary  notices  to  the  present 
time ;  and  in  doing  this,  in  supplying  what,  as  I 
passed  it  again  under  my  eye,  seemed  to  me  most 
lacking  in  it,  and  in  modifying  earlier  judgments,  till 
they  expressed  more  exactly  present  convictions,  I 
find  that,  without  having  at  all  expected  or  desired 
this  result,  I  have  re-written  the  greater  portion  of 
the  Memoir. 

Itchenstoke,  April  9,  1856. 


CONTENTS, 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND   GENIUS  OF  CALDERON. 

PAGE 

CHAP.  I.      THE    LIFE    OF   CALDERON 9 

"      II.       THE    GENIUS    OF    CALDERON  {kis  Plays) 34 

"    III.       THE    GENIUS    OF    CALDERON  (Ms  AutOs) 76 

"     IV.      CALDERON    IN   ENGLAND 98 

TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

I.      life's   A   DREAM 117 

II.      THE    GREAT    THEATRE    OP   THE   WORLD 171 

APPENDIX 221 


ON 


THE  LIFE  AND  GENIUS  OF  CALDEEON. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    LIFE    OF    CALDEEON. 

There  are  few  poets  who  have  been  so  diflferently 
judged — who  have  been  set  so  high,  and  so  low — 
as  Calderon ;  few  who  have  been  made  the  objects, 
on  one  side,  of  such  enthusiastic  admiration  and  ap- 
plause ;  on  the  other,  of  such  extreme  depreciation 
and  contempt.  Consult  the  Schlegels,  or  any  other 
of  his  chief  German  admirers,  and  you  would  suppose 
that  in  him  Shakespeare  had  found  his  peer ;  that  he 
had  attained  unto  "  the  first  three,"  to  Homer,  and 
Dante,  and  Shakespeare ;  and  that  he,  a  fourth,  occu- 
pied a  throne  of  equal  dignity  with  theirs.  For  Sis- 
mondi,  on  the  contrary,  and  for  others  not  a  few,  he 
is  little  better  than  a  dexterous  playwright,  an  adroit 
master  of  stage-effect ;  a  prodigal  squanderer  of  poet- 
ical gifts  (which,  indeed,  they  do  not  deny  to  have 

1* 


10  THE  LIFE  OP  CALDERON. 

been  eminent)  on  a  Spanish  populace,  whose  tastes  he 
flattered,  and  from  whom  he  obtained  that  meed  of 
present  popularity  which  was  justly  his  due,  being 
now  to  seek  for  no  other. 

And  perhaps  there  has  been  still  greater  divergence 
and  disagreement  in  the  estimates  which  have  been 
formed  of  the  ethical  worth  of  this  poet.  "  In  this 
great  and  divine  master  the  enigma  of  life  is  not 
merely  expressed,  but  solved."  These  are  the  words 
of  Frederic  Schlegel,  setting  him  in  this  above  Shake- 
speare, who  for  the  most  part  is  content,  according 
to  him,  with  putting  the  riddle  of  life,  without  at- 
tempting to  resolve  it."  And  again :  "  In  every  sit- 
uation and  circumstance  Calderon  is,  of  all  dramatic 
poets,  the  most  Christian."  And  Augustus  Schlegel, 
who  had  not  his  brother's  Romanist  sympathies  to 
affect  his  judgment,  in  a  passage  of  rare  eloquence  in 
his  Lectures  on  Dramatic  Literature*  characterizes 
the  religious  poetry  of  Calderon  as  one  never-ending 
hymn  of  thanksgiving,  ascending  continually  to  the 
throne  of  God.  Falling  in,  too,  with  the  very  point 
of  his  brother's  praise,  "  Blessed  man !"  he  exclaims, 
"  he  had  escaped  from  the  wild  labyrinths  of  doubt 
into  the  stronghold  of  belief;  thence,  with  undisturbed 
tranquillity  of  soul,  he  beheld  and  portrayed  the 
storms  of  the  world.  To  him  human  life  was  no 
longer  a  dark  riddle."  These  two  set  the  example ; 
many  followed  in  their  train. 

*  Lecture  29. 


THE   UFE   OP   CALDEEON.  11 

Others,  meanwhile,  have  not  been  wanting  who 
have  been  able  to  see  nothing  but  what  is  morally 
perverse  and  injurious  in  his  poetry.  Thus  Salfi  goes 
so  far  as  to  say  that  he  can  never  read  Calderon  with- 
out indignation ;  accuses  him  of  having  no  other  aims 
but  to  make  his  genius  subservient  to  the  lowest  preju- 
dices and  superstitions  of  his  countrymen.  And  oth- 
ers in  the  same  spirit  describe  him  as  the  poet  of  the 
Inquisition  (the  phrase  is  Sismondi's),  of  Romanism 
in  its  deepest  degradation,  in  its  most  extravagant 
divorce  of  religion  from  morality ;  what  morality  he 
has  being  utterly  perverted,  the  Spanish  punctilio  in 
its  bloodiest  excess  —  with  much  more  in  the  same 
strain. 

Many,  too,  of  those  who  abstain  from  passing  any 
such  strong  moral  condemnation  on  the  Spanish  poet, 
or  looking  at  his  writings  from  any  such  earnest  ethi- 
cal point  of  view,  while  they  give  him  credit  for  a 
certain  amount  of  technical  dramatic  skill,  have  no 
genuine  sympathy  with  him,  no  hearty  admiration  for 
his  works.  They  find  everywhere  more  to  blame  than 
to  praise ;  brilliant  but  cold  conceits,  oriental  hyper- 
boles, the  language  of  the  fancy  usurping  the  place 
of  the  language  of  the  heart ;  and  when  they  praise 
him  the  most,  it  is  not  as  one  of  the  stars  shining  with 
a  steady  lustre  in  the  poetical  firmament,  but  as  an 
eccentric  meteor,  filling  the  mind  of  the  beholder  with 
astonishment  rather  than  with  admiration.  Such  a 
"  frigid"  character  of  him  (it  is  his  own  word)  Hal- 


12  THE  LIFE   OP   CALDERON. 

lam*  has  given,  acknowledging  at  the  same  time  the 
slightness  of  his  acquaintance,  both  with  Calderon 
himself  and  with  the  language  in  which  he  has  writ- 
ten ;  and  such  the  author  (Southey  ?  or  Lockhart  ?) 
of  an  able  article  in  the  Qua/rterly  Review, -^  with 
whose  judgment  Hallam  has  consented  in  the  main. 

That  my  own  judgment  does  not  agree  with  theirs 
who  set  him  thus  low  in  the  scale  of  poetical  merit, 
Btill  less  with  theirs  who  charge  him  with  that  pro- 
found moral  perversity,  I  need  hardly  affirm.  For, 
small  and  slight  as  this  volume  is,  I  should  have  been 
little  tempted  to  bestow  the  labor  it  has  cost  me  on 
that  which,  as  poetry,  seemed  to  me  of  little  value ; 
and  still  less  disposed  to  set  forward  in  any  way  the 
study  of  a  writer  who,  being  what  his  earnest  cen- 
surers  affirm,  could  only  exert  a  mischievous  influ- 
ence, if  he  exerted  any,  on  his  readers.  How  far  my 
judgment  approaches  that  of  his  enthusiastic  admirers 
— what  drawbacks  it  seems  needful  to  make  on  their 
praises  as  extravagant  and  excessive — what  real  and 
substantial  worth  will  still,  as  I  believe,  remain — it 
will  be  my  endeavor  to  express  this  in  the  pages 
which  follow. 

But  these  considerations  will  be  most  fitly  intro- 
duced by  a  brief  sketch  of  Calderon's  life,  and  of  the 
circumstances  of  Spain  before  and  during  the  period 
when  he  flourished,  so  far  as  they  may  be  supposed  to 

*  Literature  of  Europe,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  532-541. 
t  Vol.  XXV.,  pp.  1-24,  The  Spanish  Dr$una. 


THE  LIFE  OP  CALDERON.  13 

have  affected  him  and  his  art.  So  shall  we  be  able 
better  to  understand  (and  it  is  not  unworthy  of  study) 
that  great  burst  of  dramatic  invention,  undoubtedly 
after  the  Greek  and  English  the  most  glorious  explo- 
sion of  genius  in  this  kind  which  the  world  has  ever 
beheld,  and  which,  beginning  some  ten  or  fifteen  years 
before  Calderon's  birth,  may  be  said  to  have  expired 
when  he  died.  There  are,  indeed,  only  three  great 
original  dramatic  literatures  in  the  world ;  and  this,  in 
which  Calderon  is  the  central  figure,  is  one.  Greece, 
England,  and  Spain,  are  the  only  three  countries,  in 
the  western  world  at  least,  which  boast  an  indepen- 
dent drama,  one  going  its  own  way,  growing  out  of 
its  own  roots,  not  timidly  asking  what  others  have 
done  before,  but  boldly  doing  that  which  its  own  na- 
tive impulses  urged  it  to  do ;  the  utterance  of  the 
national  heart  and  will,  accepting  no  laws  from  with- 
out, but  only  those  which  it  has  imposed  on  itself,  as 
laws  of  its  true  liberty,  and  not  of  bondage.  The 
Roman  drama  and  the  French  are  avowedly  imita- 
tions ;  nor  can  all  the  vigor  and  even  originality  in 
detail,  which  the  former  displays,  vindicate  for  it  an 
independent  position :  much  less  can  the  latter,  which, 
at  least  in  the  nobler  region  of  tragedy,  is  altogether 
an  artificial  production,  claim  this ;  indeed,  it  does 
not  seek  to  do  so,  finding  its  glory  in  the  renunciation 
of  any  such  claim.  Germany  has  some  fine  plays,  but 
no  national  dramatic  literature ;  the  same  must  be 
said  of  Italy ;  and  the  period  has  long  since  past  for 


14  THE  LIFE   OF   CALDERON. 

both  when  it  would  have  been  possible  that  this  want 
should  be  supplied. 

For  us,  who  behold  Spain  only  in  the  depth  of  her 
present  bankruptcy,  literal  and  figurative,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  realize  the  lofty  elevation  of  power,  and  dig- 
nity, and  honor,  at  which  she  stood  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  and,  while  as  yet  the  secret  of  her  decadence 
was  not  divined,  during  a  portion  of  the  seventeenth ; 
the  extent  to  which  the  Spaniard  was  honored  with 
the  fear,  the  admiration,  and  the  hatred,  of  the  rest 
of  Europe.  That  sixteenth  had  been  for  him  a  cen- 
tury of  achievements  almost  without  a  parallel.  At 
the  close  of  the  century  preceding,  the  Christians  of 
Spain  had  brought  their  long  conflict  with  the  infidel 
at  home  to  a  triumphant  close.  But  these  eight  hun- 
dred years  of  strife  had  impressed  their  stamp  deeply 
on  the  national  character.  "  As  iron  sharpeneth  iron," 
so  had  this  long  collision  of  races  and  religions  evoked 
many  noble  qualities  in  the  Spaniard,  but  others  also 
most  capable  of  dangerous  abuse.  War  with  the  infi- 
del, in  one  shape  or  another,  had  become  almost  a 
necessity  of  the  national  mind.  The  Spanish  cavalier 
might  not  be  moral,  but  religious,  according  to  that 
distinction  between  morality  and  religion  possible  in 
Roman  catholic  countries,  he  always  must  be,  by  the 
same  necessity  that,  to  be  a  gentleman,  he  must  be 
well  born,  and  courteous,  and  brave. 

The  field  for  the  exercise  of  this  Christian  chivalry 


THE  LIFE   OP  CALDERON.  16 

at  home  was  no  sooner  closed  to  him,  than  other  and 
wider  fields  were  opened.  Granada  was  taken  in 
1492 ;  in  the  very  same  year  Columbus  discovered  a 
New  World,  to  the  conquering  of  which  the  Spaniard 
advanced  quite  as  much  in  the  spirit  of  a  crusader  as 
of  a  gold-seeker ;  and  we  wrong  him  altogether,  at 
least  such  men  as  Cortez,  if  we  believe  that  only  the 
one  passion  was  real,  while  the  other  was  assumed. 
All  exploits  of  fabled  heroes  of  romance  were  outdone 
by  the  actual  deeds  of  these  conquerors — deeds  at 
the  recital  of  which  the  world,  so  long  as  it  has  admi- 
ration for  heroic  valor  and  endurance,  or  indignation 
for  pitiless  cruelty,  will  shudder  and  wonder.  But 
this  valor  was  not  all  to  be  lavished,  nor  these  cruel- 
ties to  be  practised,  on  a  scene  remote  from  European 
eyes.  The  years  during  which  Cortez  was  slowly 
winning  his  way  to  the  final  conquest  of  the  Mexican 
empire,  were  exactly  the  earliest  years  of  the  Refor- 
mation in  Europe  (1518-1521).  This  Reformation, 
adopted  by  the  north  of  Europe,  repelled  by  the  soutli, 
was  by  none  so  energetically  repelled  as  by  the  Span- 
iards, who  henceforward  found  a  sphere  wide  as  the 
whole  civilized  world  in  which  to  make  proof  that 
they  were  the  most  Christian  of  all  Christian  nations, 
the  most  catholic  of  all  catholic.  Spain  did  not  shrink 
from  her  part  as  champion  of  the  periled  faith,  but 
accepted  eagerly  the  glories  and  the  sacrifices  which 
this  championship  entailed.  Enriched  by  the  bound- 
less wealth  of  the  Western  world,  having  passed  in 


16  THE  LIFE   OF   CALDEEON. 

Philip  the  Second's  time  from  freedom  into  despotism, 
and  bringing  the  energies,  nursed  in  freedom,  to  be 
wielded  with  the  unity  which  despotism  possesses,  she 
rose  during  the  sixteenth  century  ever  higher  and 
higher  in  power  and  consideration. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  that  century — that  is, 
when  Lope  de  Vega  took  possession  of  the  rude  drama 
of  his  country,  and  with  the  instincts  of  genius  strength- 
ened and  enlarged,  without  disturbing,  the  old  foun- 
dations of  it — that  the  great  epoch  of  her  drama  be- 
gan. All  that  went  before  was  but  as  the  attempts 
of  Kid  and  Peele,  or  at  the  utmost  of  Marlowe,  in 
ours.  The  time  was  favorable  for  his  appearance. 
Spain  must,  at  this  time,  have  been  waiting  for  her 
poet.  The  restless  activity  which  had  pushed  her 
forward  in  every  quarter,  the  spirit  of  enterprise  which 
had  discovered  and  won  an  empire  in  the  New  World, 
while  it  had  attached  to  her  some  of  the  fairest  prov- 
inces and  kingdoms  of  the  Old,  was  somewhat  subsi- 
ding. She  was  willing  to  repose  upon  her  laurels. 
The  wish  had  risen  up  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  her  long 
and  glorious  toils ;  to  behold  herself,  and  what  was 
best  and  highest  in  her  national  existence,  those  ideals 
after  which  she  had  been  striving,  reflected  back  upon 
her  in  the  mirrors  which  art  would  supply ;  for  she 
owed  her  drama  to  that  proud  epoch  of  national  his- 
tory which  was  just  concluding,  as  truly  as  Greece 
owed  the  great  burst  of  hers,  all  which  has  made  it 
to  live  for  ever,  to  the  Persian  war,  and  to  the  eleva- 


THE  LIFE  OP   CALDEEON.  17 

tion  consequent  on  its  successful  and  glorious  conclu- 
sion. The  dramatic  poet  found  everything  ready  to 
his  hand.  Here  was  a  nation  proud  of  itself,  of  its 
fidelity  to  the  catholic  faith,  of  its  championship,  at 
all  sacrifices,  of  that  faith ;  possessing  a  splendid  past 
history  at  home  and  abroad — a  history  full  of  inci- 
dent, of  passion,  of  marvel,  and  of  suffering — much 
of  that  history  so  recent  as  to  be  familiar  to  all,  and 
much  which  was  not  recent,  yet  familiar  as  well, 
through  ballad  and  romance,  which  everywhere  lived 
on  the  lips  of  the  people.  Here  was  a  nation  which 
had  set  before  itself,  and  in  no  idle  pretence,  the  lof- 
tiest ideals  of  action ;  full  of  the  punctilios  of  valor, 
of  honor,  of  loyalty ;  a  generation  to  whom  life,  their 
own  life,  or  the  life  of  those  dearest,  was  as  dust  in 
the  balance  compared  with  the  satisfying  to  the  ut- 
most tittle  the  demands  of  these ;  so  that  one  might 
say  that  what  Sir  Philip  Sidney  has  so  beautifully 
called  "  the  hate-spot  ermeline" — the  ermine  that  rar- 
ther  dies  than  sullies  its  whiteness  with  one  spot  or 
stain — was  the  model  they  had  chosen.  Here  was  a 
society  which  had  fashioned  to  itself  a  code  of  ethics, 
which,  with  all  of  lofty  and  generous  that  was  in  it, 
was  yet  often  exaggerated,  perverted,  fantastic,  inex- 
orable, bloody ;  but  which  claimed  unquestioning  sub- 
mission from  all,  and  about  obeying  which  no  hesita- 
tion of  a  moment  might  occur.  What  materials  for 
the  dramatic  poet  were  here ! 

Nor  may  we  leave  out  of  sight  that  there  were  cir- 


18  THE   LIFE   OF    CALDERON. 

cumstances,  which  modified  and  rendered  less  fatal 
than  we  might  have  expected  they  would  prove,  even 
those  influences  that  were  manifestly  hostile  to  the 
free  development  of  genius  in  Spain.  Thus  it  is  quite 
true  that  Spain  may  be  said  finally  to  have  passed 
from  a  land  of  constitutional  freedom  into  a  despotism, 
with  the  crushing  by  Philip  II.  of  the  liberties  of  Ara- 
gon.  But  for  all  this,  the  mighty  impulses  of  the  free 
period  which  went  before,  did  not  immediately  fail. 
It  is  not  for  a  generation  or  two  that  despotism  effect- 
ually accomplishes  its  work,  and  shows  its  power  in 
cramping,  dwarfing,  and  ultimately  crushing,  the  fac- 
ulties of  a  people.  The  nation  lives  for  a  while  on 
what  has  been  gained  in  nobler  epochs  of  its  life  ;  and 
it  is  not  till  this  is  exhausted,  till  the  generation 
which  was  reared  in  a  better  time  has  passed  away, 
and  also  the  generation  which  they  have  formed  and 
moulded  under  the  not  yet  extinct  traditions  of  free- 
dom, that  all  the  extent  of  the  spiritual,  moral,  and 
intellectual  mischief,  becomes  apparent.  Moreover, 
it  must  not  be  lost  sight  of  that  the  Spanish  was  not 
an  anti-national  despotism,  such  as  the  English  would 
have  been  if  Charles  I.  had  succeeded  in  his  attempt 
to  govern  without  parliaments.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  a  despotism  in  which  the  nation  gloried ;  which 
itself  helped  forward.  It  was  consequently  one  in 
which  the  nation  did  not  feel  that  humiliation  and 
depression,  which  are  the  results  of  one  running 
directly  counter  to  the  national  feeling,  and  being  the 


THE  LIFE   OP   CALDERON.  19 

permanent  badge  of  unsuccessful  resistance  to  a  de- 
tested yoke. 

Even  the  hateful  Inquisition  itself,  by  discouraging, 
and  indeed  absolutely  repressing,  all  activity  of  ge- 
nius in  every  other  direction — destined  as  it  was  ab- 
solutely to  extinguish  it  in  all — yet  for  a  season  gave 
greater  impulse  to  its  movements  in  one  direction. 
There  was  one  province,  that  of  poetry — and,  above 
all,  dramatic  poetry — over  which  it  never  seems  to 
have  extended  that  jealous  and  suspicious  surveil- 
lance with  which  it  watched  every  other  region  of 
human  thought  and  activity. 

Such  are  some  features  of  the  Spain  in  which  Lope 
de  Vega,  Calderon,  and  their  peers,  grew  up ;  under 
these  influences  they  were  formed.  At  the  time,  in- 
deed, when  Calderon  was  born,  and  much  more  when 
he  was  rising  into  manhood,  the  glory  of  his  country 
was  somewhat  on  its  decline.  Gray  hairs  were  upon 
her.  She,  however,  knew  it  not.  Many  glimpses  of 
her  past  glory  gilded  her  yet.  Many  pledges  and 
evidences  of  her  former  greatness,  not  a  few  bequests 
of  that  heroic  past,  remained  with  her  still.  The 
Netherlands  were  not  yet  hopelessly  lost ;  Portugal 
was  still  an  appanage  of  the  Spanish  crown ;  the 
youthful  Conde  had  not  yet  destroyed  at  Rocroi  the 
prestige  of  that  hitherto  invincible  infantry  of  Spain. 
She  might  still  believe  herself  rich,  because  the  treas- 
ures of  the  Indies  flowed  through  her  coffers ;  not 
knowing  that  these  were  barren-making  streams  for 


20  THE  LIFE   OF   CALDERON. 

her,  extinguishing  in  their  passage  her  own  industry 
and  manufactures,  and  then  passing  on  to  enrich  for- 
eign or  hostile  soils.  The  secret  of  her  decay  was 
concealed,  in  great  part,  not  merely  from  herself,  but 
from  others,  from  all  but  the  most  understanding.  It 
was  to  Spain  that  our  first  James  just  at  this  period 
turned,  when  he  sought  a  wife  for  his  only  son,  as 
counting  that  alliance  more  desirable  than  any  other 
in  Europe.*  And  when  that  marriage  came  to  noth- 
ing, and  the  prospects  of  a  contest  with  Spain  rapidly 
succeeded  those  of  an  alliance  with  her,  how  great 
she  still  was  in  the  judgment  of  the  statesmen  of  Eu- 
rope may  be  seen  from  the  very  remarkable  Consid- 
erations touching-  a  War  with  Spain,  1624,  by  Lord 
Bacon.  "  A  war  with  Spain,"  he  there  declares,  "  is 
a  mighty  work :"  and  this,  even  while  the  keen-eyed 
statesman  plainly  saw  that  the  colossus  was  not  so 
great  in  reality  as  in  appearance  and  reputation,  and 
spied  with  a  searching  eye  its  weaknesses  ;  and,  most 
important  of  all,  did  not  fail  to  note  that  every  day 
the  relative  strength  of  the  two  states  was  changing 
in  favor  of  England,  which  was  ever  rising  in  strength 
as  Spain  was  falling. 

Still  the  decadence  of  Spain  was  not  openly  ac- 

*  Calderon  was  resident  in  Madrid  in  the  year  of  Prince  Charles's 
romantic  visit  to  that  city  (1623)  —  a  young  poet  of  rising  fame,  but 
as  yet  filling  no  such  oflBce  as  would  cause  him  to  take  any  share  in 
the  shows  and  triumphs  with  which  that  visit  was  celebrated.  A  few 
years  later,  and  we  should  not  probably  have  wanted  some  gorgeous 
mythological  spectacle  from  his  pen,  in  which  the  alliance  and  future 
nuptials  would  have  been  shadowed  forth. 


THE  LIFE   OF   CALDEEON.  21 

knowledged  as  yet.  Long  after  others  had  divined, 
and  even  proclaimed,  her  own  duteous  children  would 
have  refused  to  see  it.  They  certainly  did  not  per- 
ceive it  as  yet.  The  near  future  of  their  country's 
fall  was  hidden  from  them.  They  saw  not  her  who  a 
little  while  before  was  the  chief  and  foremost  among 
the  nations,  already  failing  in  the  race,  to  fall  pres- 
ently into  the  rear — nay,  to  be  thrown  out  altogether 
from  the  great,  onward  march  of  European  civiliza- 
tion. It  was  well,  at  least  for  her  poets  and  her 
painters,  that  to  hide  this  from  their  eyes  was  possi- 
ble to  them  still.  A  very  little  later,  when  the  symp- 
toms of  her  rapid  decay  became  more  numerous  and 
also  more  palpable,  so  that  even  they  could  not  have 
missed  them,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  a 
great  poet  to  have  arisen  in  Spain.  For  a  great  poet, 
without  a  great  country,  without  a  great  people  for 
him  to  be  proud  of,  and  which  in  return  he  feels  shall 
be  proud  of  him,  without  this  action  and  reaction, 
never  has  been,  and  can  never  be.  Elegant  and  even 
spirited  lyrics,  graceful  idyls,  comedies  of  social  life, 
with  all  the  small  underwood  of  poetry,  can  very  well 
exist,  as  they  often  have  existed,  where  there  is  little 
or  no  national  life  or  feeling ;  but  its  grander  and  sub- 
limer  forms — epos,  and  tragedy,  and  the  loftier  lyrics 
— can  grow  out  of,  and  nourish  themselves  from,  no 
other  soil  than  that  of  a  vigorous  national  existence. 
The  names  of  Calderon  and  of  his  great  dramatic 
contemporaries — of  the  most  illustrious  among  the 


22  THE   LIFE   OF   CALDERON. 

Spanish  painters  (the  lives  of  Velasquez  and  Murillo 
run  pretty  nearly  parallel  to  his) — are  evidences  that 
such  a  period  was  not  yet  overlived  in  Spain.  At  the 
same  time,  it  must  be  owned  that  he  stood  on  its  ex- 
tremest  verge.  He  who  saw  the  sun  of  his  country's 
glory,  if  not  indeed  at  its  zenith,  yet  still  high  in  the 
heaven,  saw  it  also  in  its  swift  decline  and  descent ; 
and,  had  his  long  life  been  extended  only  a  little 
longer,  he  would  have  seen  it  set  altogether. 

The  most  important  source  from  which  the  materi- 
als for  Calderon's  life  are  derived  is  a  short  biogra- 
phy written  by  his  friend  Vera  Tassis.  This  was 
prefixed  by  him  to  an  edition  of  Calderon's  plays,  the 
first  volume  of  which  was  published  the  year  after  his 
death.*  Brief  as  this  record  is,  it  contains  even  less 
than  the  first  aspect  of  its  narrow  limits  would  lead 
one  to  expect ;  for  it  is  composed  in  the  worst  style 
of  affected  eloquence,  however  this  may  be  partially 
redeemed  by  the  tone  of  true  affection  which  makes 
itself  felt  even  through  a  medium  so  unfavorable  as 
this.  Considering,  too,  the  biographer's  opportuni- 
ties of  knowledge,  derived  from  a  sister  of  the  poet 
who  survived  him,  and  from  other  of  his  friends,  as 
well  as  from  personal  intercourse  (for  he  speaks  of 
Calderon's  death  as  being  to  him  the  loss  of  a  parent, 
a  master,  and  a  friend),  its  notices  are  very  few  and 

*  This  edition  (Madrid,  1682-1691,  9  torn.  4to)  is  naturally  the  first 
which  contains  his  collected  plays. 


THE  LIFE   OF   CALDERON.  28 

unsatisfactory.  The  writer  would  indeed  have  de- 
served much  better  of  the  after-world,  if,  instead  of 
pompous  and  turgid  eulogiums,  which  Tfould  have 
fitted  almost  equally  well  any  great  poet  who  had 
ever  lived,  he  had  given  a  few  characteristic  details 
of  Calderon's  life  and  habits.  These,  unfortunately, 
are  wanting  altogether. 

And  even  the  information  which  he  does  afford  us 
is  not  altogether  accurate ;  for  he  stumbles  at  the  very 
threshold,  making  the  year  1601  to  have  been  that  of 
Calderon's  birth,  a  mistake  which  has  since  propa- 
gated itself  widely ;  while  an  extract  from  his  bap- 
tismal register,  preserved  in  a  very  trustworthy  work 
called  The  Sons  of  Madrid*  and  entitled,  as  docu- 
mentary evidence,  to  far  greater  weight,  gives  Febru- 
ary 14,  1600,  as  the  day  of  his  baptism ;  not  to  say 
that  in  another  rare  work,f  published  by  a  friend  in 
his  honor,  and  written  immediately  after  his  death,  it 
is  distinctly  stated,  on  the  authority  of  Calderon  him- 
self, that  he  was  born  January  17, 1600.  Madrid  had 
the  honor  of  being  his  birthplace. 

His  father,  secretary  to  the  treasury  board  under 
Philip  II.  and  Philip  III.,  was  of  a  good  family  of  the 
Montana,  a  mountainous  district  so  called  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Burgos ;  his  mother  of  a  noble  Flemish 
family  long  settled  in  Castile.  His  parents  were,  ac- 
cording to  The  Sons  of  Madrid,  "  very  Christian  and 

*  Los  Hijos  de  Madrid,  t.  4,  p.  218. 
t  Obdisco  Funebre. 


24  THE  LIFE   OF   OALDERON. 

discreet  persons,  who  gave  their  children  an  educa- 
tion conformable  to  their  illustrious  lineage."  These 
children  were  four:  an  eldest  son,  D.  Diego,  who  suc- 
ceeded to  the  family  estates  and  honors ;  a  daughter, 
who  became  a  professed  nun  of  the  order  of  St.  Clare, 
and  survived  the  poet  by  a  year ;  D.  Josef,  who  fol- 
lowed the  career  of  arms,  and  fell  in  battle  in  the 
year  1645  ;  and  D.  Pedro,  the  youngest,  with  whom 
we  have  to  do.*  He  received  his  first  rudiments  of 
education  in  the  Jesuit  college  at  Madrid ;  and  then 
for  five  years  studied  philosophy  and  the  scholastic 
theology  (of  which  fact  abundant  traces  appear  in  his 
writings)  at  the  university  of  Salamanca.  Leaving  it 
at  nineteen,  he  spent  the  five  or  six  years  that  fol- 
lowed at  the  capital,  having  already  in  his  fourteenth 
year  shown  the  bent  of  his  genius  toward  the  stage  by 
a  drama.  The  Chariot  of  Heaven,  which  has  not  come 
down  to  us. 

Like  so  many  other  of  the  most  distinguished  au- 
thors of  Spain,  he  began  his  active  career  as  a  soldier 
— in  his  twenty-fifth  year  serving  in  the  Milanese,  and 
afterward  in  the  Low  Countries,  his  biographer  assu- 
ring us  that  his  studies  were  not  through  these  his 
more  active  engagements  at  all  intermitted.  Some 
have  supposed  that  he  was  present  at  the  siege  and 
taking  of  Breda  by  Spinola,  the  great  Genoese  cap- 
tain in  the  service  of  Spain  (1625)  ;  inferring  this 
from  his  singular  familiarity  with  all  the  details  of 

*  Los  Hijos  de  Madrid,  t.  1,  p.  305 ;  t.  2,  p.  218 ;  t.  3,  p.  24. 


THE  LIFE  OF   CALDERON.  25 

this  famous  feat  of  arms,  as  displayed  in  his  play 
called  The  Siege  of  Breda*  How  long  his  military 
career  lasted  we  are  not  told.  We  find  him,  at  a  date 
somewhat  later  than  this,  again  at  Madrid,  whither 
he  had  been  summoned  by  the  reigning  monarch, 
Philip  IV.  In  1630,  his  fame  was  so  well  established, 
that  Lope  de  Vega  recognises  him  as  his  true  and 
equal  successor ;  while,  five  years  later,  the  death  of 
Lope  (1635)  left  him  the  undisputed  occupant  of  the 
highest  place  among  the  poets  of  Spain,  a  pre-eminence 
which  he  held  without  the  challenge  of  a  rival  to  the 
end  of  his  life. 

It  was  observed  just  now  that  Calderon  came  to 
Madrid  in  obedience  to  the  summons  of  Philip  IV. 
This  monarch,  himself  an  author,  and  writing  his  own 
language  with  precision  and  purity ,f  was  passionately 
addicted  to  the  drama.     Indeed,  some  plays,  said  not 

*  The  surrender  of  Breda  was  a  subject  which  employed  the  pencil 
of  Velasquez  as  well  as  the  pen  of  Calderon.  The  picture  bearing 
this  name  is  a  chief  ornament  of  the  Royal  Gallery  at  Madrid,  and 
one  of  the  greatest  woris  of  a  great  master.  ( See  Stirling,  Velasquez 
and  his  Works,  p.  148.)  The  play,  though  spirited,  is  too  much  a 
mere  chronicle  of  the  siege  and  capitulation.  It  was  probably  a  mere 
piece  for  the  occasion.  It  is  pleasant  to  notice  the  justice  which  Cal- 
deron does  to  the  gallantry  of  Morgan,  an  English  captain,  who,  with 
a  small  body  of  his  countrymen,  as  we  know  from  other  sources, 
assisted  in  the  defence  of  the  place. 

t  PcUicer,  a  Spanish  scholar  of  the  last  century,  and  librarian  of 
the  Royal  Library  at  Madrid,  states  that  in  that  library  are  preser\'ed 
MS.  translations  by  this  king  of  Francis  Guicciardini's  History  of  the 
Wars  of  Italy,  and  also  of  his  nephew's  Description  of  the  Loxo  Coun- 
tries ;  to  the  latter  of  which  a  graceful  and  sensible  prologue  has  been 
prefixed  by  the  king.  ( Origen  y  Progresos  de  la  Comedia  en  Espana, 
Madrid,  1804,  t.  1,  p.  162.) 

o 


26  THE   LIFE   OP   CALDERON. 

to  be  without  merit,  are  ascribed,  but  on  no  sufficient 
evidence,  to  him.  Unfortunately,  he  expended  on  his 
artistic  and  ^literary  pursuits  a  great  portion  of  that 
time,  and  those  energies,  which  would  have  been  far 
better  bestowed  on  the  fulfilment  of  the  kingly  duties 
which  were  so  greatly  neglected  by  him.  There  was 
much,  however,  in  the  character  of  the  youthful  mon- 
arch (he  was  five  years  younger  than  the  poet),  which 
was  gracious,  amiable,  and  attractive;*  and  a  little 
anecdote  or  two  imply  that  the  relations  between  the 
tv/o  were  easy  and  familiar.  Director  of  the  court 
theatre,  which  was  the  post  that  Caldcron,  whether 
nominally  or  not,  yet  really  occupied  now,  does  not 
appear  a  very  promising,  nor  yet  a  very  dignified  one, 
for  a  great  poet  to  assume ;  yet  one  not  very  dissimi- 
lar Goethe  was  willing  for  many  years  to  sustain  at 
Weimar :  and,  no  doubt,  like  so  many  other  positions, 
it  was  very  much  what  the  holder  was  willing  to 
make  it. 


*  For  a  happy  sketch  of  liis  charactsr,  see  Stirling,  Velasquez  and 
his  Works,  London,  1855,  pp.  46-48.  Dunlop's  Memoirs  of  Spain 
during  the  Reigns  of  Philip  IV.  and  Charles  II.  (2  vols.,  Edinburgh, 
1834),  are  not  very  profound,  and  their  idiom  is  occasionally  rather 
Scotch  than  English.  They  contain,  however,  enough  of  information 
agreeably  conveyed,  and  which  is  not  very  easily  found  elsewhere,  to 
occasion  a  regret  that  ho  never  carried  out  a  purpose  entertained  by 
him  (see  vol.  i.,  p.  9 ;  vol.  ii.,  p.  415)  of  dedicating  a  third  volume  to 
the  history  of  dramatic  art  in  Spain  during  the  seventeenth  century. 
As  it  is,  the  intention  of  devoting  an  especial  treatise  to  this  subject 
has  caused  him  almost  wholly  to  pass  by  a  matter,  which,  in  the  life 
of  such  a  monarch  as  Philip  IV.,  could  else  have  hardly  failed  to 
occupy  some  prominence  in  his  book. 


THE  LIFE   OF   CALDERON.  27 

A  member  of  the  military  order  of  Santiago  (for  in 
1637  he  had  received  this  honor),  Calderon  had  the 
opportmiity  of  showing  in  his  middle  age  that  his  mar- 
tial ardor  was  not  quenched.     On  occasion  of  the  re- 
volt in  Catalonia,  in  1640,  the  members  of  the  three 
military  orders  were  summoned  to  take  the  field.     His 
biographer  tells  us  that  it  was  only  by  a  device  that 
Calderon  was  able  to  take  that  part  in  the  perils  of 
the  campaign  to  which  in  duty  and  honor  he  felt  him- 
self bound.     The  king  wished  to  detain  the  poet  at 
his  side.     Garcilasso,  the  author  of  the  most  elegant 
lyrics  after  the  Italian  fashion  which  Spain  had  pro- 
duced, had  perished  quite  in  his  youth  at  the  storming 
of  a  fortified  mill,  leaving  only  the  first-fruits  of  his 
graceful  genius  behind  him.     Philip  may  not  have 
been  willmg  to  expose  a  far  greater  light  to  a  like 
premature  extinction.     At  any  rate,  he  desired  to 
hinder  the  poet  from  going ;  and  this  he  supposed  that 
he  had  effectually  done,  when  he  gave  him  a  festal 
piece  to  prepare,  which,  according  to  the  king's  anti- 
cipation, would  abundantly  occupy  him  until  after  the 
expedition  had  set  out.     Calderon,  however,  defeated 
his  purpose — bringing  his  appointed  task  with  such 
rapidity  to  a  close,  that  he  was  able  to  follow  and 
join  the  army  in  time,  as  Yera  Tassis  tells  us,  to 
share  with  it  all  its  dangers  until  peace  was  con- 
cluded. 

Such  is  the  account  of  his  biographer ;  and  such 
conduct  would  be  entirely  in  keeping  with  the  chival- 


28  THE   LIFE   OF    CALDERON. 

rous  character  of  Calderon :  yet  it  is  not  without  its 
difficulties.  In  the  first  place,  the  king  could  only 
have  expected,  by  such  an  artifice  as  this,  to  detain 
him  from  the  perils  of  the  campaign,  on  the  assumption 
that  the  war  would  be  over  almost  as  soon  as  begun. 
A  fleet  which  had  once  set  sail  it  might  be  impossible 
afterward  to  join ;  but  infinite  opportunities  must  have 
offered  of  joining  an  army  only  two  or  three  provinces 
off,  and  between  such  and  the  capital  there  must  have 
been  constant  communication.  Perhaps  such  expecta- 
tion of  immediate  success  may  have  prevailed  at  Ma- 
drid. As  it  proved,  the  contest  in  Catalonia  lasted  for 
twelve  years,  the  revolt  being  only  suppressed  in  1652 
— which  makes  another  difficulty.  Vera  Tassis  states 
that  Calderon  remained  with  the  army  till  peace  was 
concluded ;  which  would  be  for  these  twelve  years. 
It  is  quite  certain  that  long  before  this  he  was  again 
in  attendance  on  the  court.  In  1649,  he  took  a  promi- 
nent share  in  preparing  the  shows  and  festivities  which 
welcomed  the  arrival  of  Philip's  new  queen,  Anna 
Maria  of  Austria,  to  Madrid ;  while,  in  1651,  a  year 
before  the  rebellion  was  quelled,  he  had  taken  holy 
orders :  for,  like  so  many  other  of  his  countrymen, 
illustrious  in  war,  or  statesmanship,  or  art,  the  career 
which  he  began  as  a  soldier  he  concluded  as  a  priest. 
In  a  church  so  richly  endowed  as  the  Spanish  was 
then,  and  one  in  which  the  monarch  had  been  so  suc- 
cessful in  keeping  the  richest  endowments  in  his  own 
gift,  it  was  not  likely  that  Calderon  would  long  re- 


THE  LIFE   OP  CALDERON.  29 

main  without  preferment.  The  favor  of  his  royal 
patron  speedily  conferred  more  than  one  preferment 
upon  him ;  and  he  continued,  from  time  to  time,  to 
receive  new  proofs  of  his  master's  liberality,  and  of 
his  wish  to  attach  him  as  closely  as  possible  to  his 
person.  His  high  court  favor  ended  with  the  life  of 
Philip.  The  death  of  that  monarch  was  doubtless  to 
Calderon  not  merely  the  loss  of  a  patron,  but  almost 
of  a  friend.  This  event  took  place  in  1665,  and  with 
it  the  faint  nimbus  of  glory,  which  had  until  then  con- 
tinued, more  or  less,  to  surround  the  Spanish  mon- 
archy, quite  disappeared.  A  feeble  minor,  not  less 
feeble  in  intellect  than  in  age,  occupied  the  throne. 
The  court  was  the  seat  of  miserable  and  disgraceful 
intrigues.  From  that  empire,  once  so  proud  and 
strong,  cities  and  provinces  were  rent  away  by  the 
violence  or  fraud  of  Louis  XIY.,  almost  as  often  as 
he  chose  to  stretch  out  his  hand  and  take  them.  He 
was,  indeed,  only  hindered  from  tearing  that  empire 
piecemeal,  by  the  hope  that  a  descendant  of  his  own 
should  ere  long  inherit  it  altogether. 

Literature,  with  everything  else,  felt  the  deeply  de- 
pressing influence  of  the  time.  Calderon,  however, 
still  sang  on;  he  belonged  to  a  better  epoch,  and 
brought  the  poetic  energies  of  that  epoch  into  the  evil 
days  upon  which  he  was  now  fallen ;  though  he  too 
began  about  this  time  to  show,  in  some  degree,  the 
effects  of  age,  and,  it  may  be,  of  the  sunken  splendors 
of  his  native  land.     To  this  later  period  of  his  life 


80  THE  LIFE   OF   CALDERON. 

belongs  a  very  slight  and  transient  glimpse  which  we 
obtain  of  the  poet — one  however  which,  in  default  of 
fuller  information,  must  not  be  passed  by.  Nor,  in- 
deed, is  this  little  notice  without  a  certain  point  of 
its  own ;  it  is,  indeed,  impossible  not  to  admire  the 
Frenchman's  self-satisfied  conviction  of  his  immeasu- 
rable superiority  as  a  critic  over  the  benighted  Span- 
iard, who  was  ignorant  of  the  unities.  It  is  a  French 
traveller  who,  in  his  Diary  of  a  Journey  in  Spain* 
thus  writes :  "  Yesterday  came  the  marquis  of  Eliche,t 
eldest  son  of  Don  Luis  de  Haro,  and  Monsieur  de  Bar- 
riere,  and  took  me  to  the  theatre.  The  play,  which 
had  been  before  brought  forward,  but  was  newly  re- 
vived, was  naught,  although  it  had  Don  Pedro  Calde- 
ron  for  author.  At  a  later  hour  I  made  a  %dsit  to  this 
Calderon,  who  is  held  the  greatest  poet  and  the  most 
illustrious  genius  in  Spain  at  the  present  day.  He  is 
knight  of  the  order  of  Santiago,  and  chaplain  to  the 
chapel  of  the  Kings  at  Toledo  ;  but  I  gathered  from 
his  conversation  that  his  head-piece  was  furnished 
poorly  enough.     We  disputed  a  good  while  on  the 

*  Boisel,  Journal  de  Voyage  d'Espagne,  Paris,  1669,  p.  298.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  fall  in  with  this  book,  and  the  passage  as  given 
above  is  a  translation  of  a  translation ;  and  whether  a  perfectly  accu- 
rate rendering  of  the  original  I  can  not  be  sure. 

t  This  was  he  who  a  few  years  earlier  (in  1662)  set  on  foot  a  small 
gunpowder  plot  of  his  own,  and  nearly  contrived  to  blow  up  Philip 
IV.  Avith  the  royal  family  at  the  theatre  of  the  Buen  Retiro.  He  was 
pardoned  for  his  father's  sake.  His  good  conduct  in  the  field  seems 
to  have  caused  his  treason  to  be  forgotten ;  and  he  rose  in  the  suc- 
ceeding reign  to  the  highest  oflSces  in  the  state. 


THE  LIFE   OF   CALDERON.  81 

rules  of  the  drama,  which  in  this  land  are  not  recog- 
nised, and  about  which  the  Spaniards  make  themselves 
merry." 

Though  no  longer  a  foremost  favorite  of  the  court, 
Calderon's  relations  to  it  still  continued,  and  his  ser- 
vices were  put  in  requisition  whenever  the  so-called 
fiestas,  or  dramatic  spectacles  for  peculiar  occasions, 
were  needed.  With  the  nation  his  popularity  sur- 
vived undiminished  to  the  close  of  his  life.  This  life, 
which  was  one  of  singular  peace  and  outward  pros- 
perity, he  brought  to  an  end  on  Whit-Sunday,  May 
25, 1681,  his  years  running  exactly  parallel  to  those 
of  that  century  of  which  he  was  so  illustrious  an  or- 
nament. A  little  volume  of  funeral  eulogies,  pub- 
lished the  same  year  by  a  gentleman  belonging  to  the 
household  of  his  patron  and  friend,  the  duke  of  Yera- 
guas,*  is  almost  utterly  barren  of  any  historical  no- 
tices about  him  of  the  slightest  value.  The  only  two 
facts  which  can  be  gleaned  from  it  are  these :  the  first, 
that  poor  Charles  II.  shed  tears  at  the  announcement 
of  his  death,  an  act  which  the  writer  considers  "  not 
merely  pardonable  but  praiseworthy,"  and  which, 
whether  true  or  only  reported,  seems  to  imply  that 
"his  genius  was  in  a  measure  still  recognised  even  at 
the  court ;  the  other,  that  three  thousand  persons  with 
torches  attended  his  funeral.  This,  though  it  fell  infi- 
nitely below  the  extraordinary  solemnity  and  magnifi- 
cence with  which  the  obsequies  of  Lope  de  Vega  were 

*  Funebres  Elogios,  Valencia,  1681. 


32  THE  LIFE   OP   CALDERON. 

celebrated  half  a  century  before,  yet  tells  of  no  slight 
honor  in  which  the  nation  held  its  greatest,  as  he  was 
the  last  of  its  great,  poets.  He  was  buried  in  the 
parish  church  of  San  Salvador,  at  Madrid,  and  a  mag- 
nificent monument  (so  Vera  Tassis  calls  it),  surmount- 
ed with  his  portrait,  was  raised  over  his  remains.* 

All  notices  which  we  have  of  Calderon  from  con- 
temporaries are  pleasant,  and  give  us  the  impression 
of  one  who  was  loved,  and  who  was  worthy  to  be 
loved.  In  his  old  age  he  used  to  collect  his  friends 
round  him  on  his  birthdays,  and  tell  them  amusing 
stories  of  his  earlier  life.f  Yera  Tassis  recounts  the 
noblest  names  of  Spain  as  in  the  list  of  his  personal 
friends ;  nor  does  he  fail  to  notice  the  signal  absence 
of  all  gall  from  his  pen — the  entire  freedom  of  his 
spirit  from  all  sentiments  of  jealousy  and  envy.     Cal- 

*  With  some  alterations  which  had  taken  place  in  this  church  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century,  a  time  probably  when  Calderon's  fame 
was  at  its  nadir,  all  traces  of  the  exact  place  where  his  remains  were 
deposited,  and  of  his  tomb  itself,  had  disappeared.  However,  in  1840, 
in  pulling  down  the  decayed  cloister  of  San  Salvador,  a  tomb  was  dis- 
covered under  the  walls  of  the  vestry,  whose  inscription  proved  it  to 
be  his.  His  remains  were  transferred,  with  considerable  pomp  and 
solemnity,  to  the  church  of  our  Lady  of  Atocha,  which  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  kind  of  national  Pantheon.  {Foreign  Quarterly  Review, 
April,  1841,  p.  227.)  It  was,  I  suppose,  upon  this  occasion,  that  Zor- 
rilla's  Apoteosis  de  Don  Pedro  Calderon  de  la  Barca,  Madrid,  1840, 
was  pubUshed.  I  do  not  know  anything  of  the  other  poems  of  Zor- 
rilla,  esteemed  the  best  poet  of  modern  Spain ;  but  this,  though  evi- 
dencing some  insight  into  the  true  character  of  Calderon's  genius,  is 
on  the  whole  poor  and  feeble. 

t  Prologue  to  the  Obelisco  Funebre.  I  have  never  seen  this  rare  vol- 
ume, but  take  this  and  a  former  reference  to  it  from  Ticknor's  History 
of'  Spanish  Literature. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CALDERON.  39 

deron's  writings  bear  out  this  praise.  All  his  allu- 
sions to  those  who  might  be  accounted  his  rivals  and 
competitors  are  honorable  alike  to  him  and  to  them. 
There  were  but  two  great  authors,  between  whom  and 
himself  any  rivalry  could  exist :  the  one  certainly  of 
more  genial  humor,  of  deeper  and  more  universal 
gifts,  Cervantes,  who,  dying  in  1617,  had  passed  from 
life's  scene  as  Calderon  was  entering  actively  upon  it ; 
the  other.  Lope  de  Vega,  probably  on  the  whole  his 
inferior,  but  occupying  then,  by  right  of  prior  posses- 
sion, in  the  estimation  of  most,  the  highest  seat  in  the 
Spanish  Parnassus.  There  exist  some  pleasing  lines 
of  Calderon  addressed  to  the  latter,  and  he  never 
misses  an  opportunity  of  paying  a  compliment  to  Cer- 
vantes. Indeed,  he  dramatized  a  portion  of  Don 
Quixote^  although  this  work  has  not  come  down  to 
us.  If  he  indulges  sometimes  in  a  little  playful  rail- 
lery on  the  writings  of  his  brother-dramatists,  it  is 
only  of  the  same  kind  which  from  time  to  time  he  be- 
stows on  his  own.  That  his  hand  and  heart  were 
largely  open  to  the  poorer  and  less  successful  breth- 
ren of  the  poetical  guild,  his  biographer  very  distinctly 
assures  us.  But,  of  a  multitude  of  other  things  which 
we  should  care  to  know,  he  has  not  informed  us.  If 
we  would  complete  our  image  of  the  poet,  it  must  be 
from  the  internal  evidence  of  his  writings.  Of  his 
outer  life  we  know  almost  nothing  more  than  has  here 
been  told. 

2* 


34  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    GENIUS    OF    CALDERON. 
(his  plays.) 

They  convey  altogether  a  wrong  impression  of  Cal- 
deron,  who,  willing  to  exalt  and  glorify  him  the  more, 
isolate  him  wholly  from  his  age — who  pass  over  all 
its  other  worthies  to  magnify  him  only — presenting 
him  to  us  not  as  one,  the  brightest  indeed  in  a  galaxy 
of  lights,  but  as  the  sole  particular  star  in  the  firma- 
ment of  Spanish  dramatic  art.  Those  who  derive 
their  impression  from  the  Schlegels,  especially  from 
Augustus,  would  conclude  him  to  stand  thus  alone — 
to  stand,  if  one  might  venture  to  employ  the  allusion, 
a  poetical  Melchisedec,  without  spiritual  father,  with- 
out spiritual  mother,  with  nothing  round  him  to  ex- 
plain or  account  for  the  circumstances  of  his  greatness. 
But  there  are  no  such  appearances  in  literature :  great 
artists,  poets,  or  painters,  or  others,  always  cluster ; 
the  conditions  which  produce  one,  produce  many. 
They  are  not  strewn,  at  nearly  equable  distances, 
through  the  life  of  a  nation,  but  there  are  brief  peri- 


,  THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  85 

ods-  of  great  productiveness,  with  long  intervals  of 
comparative  barrenness  between ;  or  it  may  be,  as 
indeed  was  the  case  with  Spain,  the  aloe-tree  of  a 
nation's  literature  blossoms  but  once. 

And  if  this  is  true  in  other  regions  of  art,  above 
all  will  it  be  true  in  respect  of  the  drama.*  In  this, 
when  it  deserves  the  name,  a  nation  is  uttering  itself, 
what  is  nearest  to  its  heart,  what  it  has  conceived 
there  of  life  and  life's  mystery,  and  of  a  possible  rec- 
onciliation between  the  world  which  now  is  and  that 
ideal  world  after  which  it  yearns  ;  and  the  conditions 
of  a  people,  which  make  a  great  outburst  of  the  drama 
possible,  make  it  also  inevitable  that  this  will  utter 
itself,  not  by  a  single  voice,  but  by  many.  Even 
Shakespeare  himself,  towering  as  he  does  immeasura- 
bly above  all  his  compeers,  is  not  a  single,  isolated 
peak,  rising  abruptly  from  the  level  plain,  but  one  of 
a  chain  and  cluster  of  mountain-summits ;  and  his  al- 
titude, so  far  from  being  dwarfed  and  diminished,  can 
only  be  rightly  estimated  when  it  is  regarded  in  rela- 


*  Little  more  than  a  centary  covers  the  whole  period  intervening 
between  the  birth  of  iEschylus,  b.  c.  525,  and  the  death  of  Euripides, 
n.  c.  406.  A  period  of  almost  exactly  the  same  duration  includes  the 
birth  of  Lope,  1562,  and  the  death  of  Calderon,  1681  ;  wliile  in  our 
own  drama  the  birth  of  Marlowe,  1565,  and  the  death  of  Shirley,  1666, 
enclose  a  period  considerably  shorter,  and  one  capable  of  a  still  fur- 
ther abridgment  of  nearly  thirty  years ;  for,  although  the  last  of  the 
Elizabethan  school  of  dramatists  lived  on  to  1666,  the  Elizabethan 
drama  itself  may  be  said  to  have  expired  with  the  commencement  of 
the  Civil  "War,  1640. 


86  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

tion  with  theirs.  And  if  this  is  true  even  of  him,  it 
is  much  more  so  of  Calderon,  who  by  no  means  tow- 
ers so  pre-eminently,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  all  rivalry 
and  competition,  above  his  fellows.  The  greatest  of 
all  the  Spanish  dramatists,  he  is  yet  equalled  and  ex- 
celled in  this  point  and  in  that  by  one  and  another ; 
as  by  Lope  in  invention,  by  Tirso  de  Molina  in  exu- 
berant and  festive  wit.  Let  us  regard  him,  then,  not 
as  that  monster  which  some  would  present  him  to  us, 
but,  with  all  his  manifold  gifts,  still  as  the  orderly 
birth  of  his  age  and  nation ;  and,  regarding  him  as 
such,  proceed  to  consider  what  those  gifts  were,  and 
what  he  accomplished  with  them. 

When  we  seek  to  form  an  estimate  of  Calderon,  it 
is,  I  think,  in  the  first  place  impossible  not  to  admire 
the  immense  range  of  history  and  fable  which  supplies 
him  with  the  subject-matter  for  his  art,  and  the  entire 
ease  and  self-possession  with  which  he  moves  through 
every  province  of  his  poetical  domain ;  and  this,  even 
where  he  is  not  able  to  make  perfectly  good  his  claim 
to  every  portion  of  it.  Thus  he  has  several  dramas 
of  which  the  argument  is  drawn  from  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, The  Locks  of  Absalom  being  perhaps  the  no- 
blest of  these.  Still  more  have  to  do  with  the  heroic 
martyrdoms  and  other  legends  of  Christian  antiquity, 
the  victories  of  the  cross  of  Christ  over  all  the  fleshly 
and  spiritual  wickednesses  of  the  ancient  heathen 
world.     To  this  theme,  which  is  one  almost  undrawn 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  87 

upon  in  our  Elizabethan  drama — Massinger's  Virgin 
Martyr  is  the  only  example  I  remember — he  returns 
continually,  and  he  has  elaborated  these  plays'  with 
peculiar  care.  Of  these,  The  Wonder-ivorking-  Ma- 
gician* is  most  celebrated ;  but  others,  as  The  Joseph 
of  Women,  The  Two  Lovers  of  Heaven,  quite  de- 
serve to  be  placed  on  a  level,  if  not  indeed  higher 
than  it.  A  tender,  pathetic  grace  is  shed  over  this 
last,  which  gives  it  a  peculiar  charm.  Then,  too,  he 
has  occupied  what  one  might  venture  to  call  the  re- 
gion of  sacred  mythology,  as  in  The  Sibyl  of  the  East, 
in  which  the  profound  legends  identifying  the  cross  of 
Calvary  and  the  tree  of  life  are  wrought  up  into  a 
poem  of  surpassing  beauty.  In  other  of  these  not  the 
Christian  but  the  Romish  poet  is  predominant,  as  in 
The  Purgatory  of  St.  Patrick,  the  Devotion  of  the 
Cross,  Daybreak  in  Copacabana,^  this  last  being  the 
story  of  the  first  dawn  of  the  faith  in  Peru.  What- 
ever there  may  be  in  these  of  superstitious,  or,  as  in 
one  of  them  there  is,  of  ethically  revolting,  none  but 
a  great  poet  could  have  composed  them. 

Then,  further,  his  historic  drama  reaches  down  from 
the  gray  dawn  of  earliest  story  to  the  celebration  of 
events  which  happened  in  liis  own  day ;  it  extends 


*  See  Immermann's  Memorabilien,  b.  ii.,  pp.  219-229. 

t  Translated  by  Schack,  author  of  the  admirable  Geschichte  der 
dramatischen  Literatur  und  Kunst  in  Spanien,  3  Bande,  Berlin,  184.'), 
1846,  to  which  I  am  often  indebted. 


38  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDEEON. 

from  The  Daughter  of  the  Air*  being  the  legend  of 
Semiramis,  and  in  Goethe's  judgment  his  most  glori- 
ous piecef  (Goethe,  however,  seems  only  to  have  been 
familiar  with  those  which  had  been  translated  into 
German),  down  to  The  Siege  of  Breda,  alluded  to 
already.  Between  these  are  dramas  from  Greek  his- 
tory, and  from  Roman.  Of  these,  The  Great  Zeno- 
bia  is  the  best ;  The  Arms  of  Beauty,  on  the  story  of 
Coriolanus,  and  as  poor  as  its  name  would  indicate, 
the  worst.  Others  are  from  Jewish,  and  a  multitude 
from  the  history  of  modern  Europe.  Thus  two  at 
least  from  English  annals :  one,  rather  a  poor  one,  on 
the  institution  of  the  order  of  the  Garter ;  another, 
The  Schism  of  England,  which  is  his  Henry  VIII., 
and,  as  may  be  supposed,  written  at  a  very  different 
point  of  view  from  Shakespeare's. $  It  is  chiefly  curi- 
ous as  showing  what  was  the  popular  estimate  in  Spain 
of  the  actors  in  our  great  religious  reformation ;  and 
displays  throughout  an  evident  desire  to  spare  the 
king,  and  to  throw  the  guilt  of  his  breach  with  the 
church  on  Anne  Boleyn  and  Cardinal  Wolsey.  But 
the  great  majority  of  Calderon's  historical  dramas  arc 

*  See  Immermann's  Memorabilien,  b.  ii.,  pp.  247-271. 

t  Das  herrliehste  von  Calderon's  Stiicken. 

X  It  need  only  be  observed  that  his  main  authority  here  is  the  book 
of  Nicholas  Sanders  ("  or  Slanders  rather,"  as  Fuller  has  it),  De  Ori- 
g'tne  ac  Progressu  Schismatis  Anglicani.  A  little  essay  on  this  drama 
(Ueber  Die  Kirchentrennung  von  England,  Schauspiel  des  Don  Pedro 
Calderon,  Berlin,  1819)  has  been  written  by  F,  W.  V.  Schmidt,  and 
is  worth  reading. 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  89 

drawn,  as  was  to  be  expected  in  a  poet  so  intensely 
national,  and  appealing  to  so  intensely  national  a  feel- 
ing, from  the  annals  of  his  own  country.  These  have 
the  immense  advantage  of  being  the  embodiment,  for 
the  most  part,  of  events  already  familiar  to  the  popu- 
lar mind.  The  heroes  of  Spanish  romance  and  of 
Spanish  history  are  here  brought  forward ;  and  not 
the  remoter  names  alone,  but  those  of  the  century  pre- 
ceding— Isabella  of  Castile,  Charles  Y.,  the  Con- 
quistadores,  Philip  II.,  Don  John  of  Austria,  Alva, 
Figueroa,  and  even  some  of  those  who  were  still  liv- 
ing when  he  wrote.  It  is  not  easy  to  measure  the 
effect  which  in  their  representation  must  have  attend- 
ed some  of  these.  The  Steadfast  Prince,  of  which, 
however,  the  hero  is  not  Spanish,  but  Portuguese,  is 
the  most  celebrated  among  them. 

Leaving  the  region  of  history,  and  in  a  world  more 
purely  and  entirely  ideal,  Calderon  has  some  exquis- 
ite mythological  pieces,  in  which  he  does  not,  in  Cow- 
ley's words,  merely  serve  up  "  the  cold  meats  of  the 
ancients,  new  heated,  and  new  set  forth ;"  but  the  old 
classical  story  comes  forth  new-born  in  the  romantic 
poetry  of  the  modern  world.  So  is  it,  for  instance, 
in  the  exquisitely  graceful  and  fanciful  poem,  Echo 
and  Narcissus ;  but,  above  all,  this  is  true  where  a 
Christian  idea  looks  through  the  mythological  symbol- 
ism, and  informs  it  with  its  own  life,  as  in  The  Statue 
of  Prometheus,  and  in  another  founded  on  the  well- 


40  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

known  legend  of  Cupid  and  Psyche.  In  general,  how- 
ever, it  must  be  owned  that  these  mythological  are 
the  weakest  among  his  productions ;  being,  many  of 
them,  evidently  intended  merely  as  vehicles  for  show 
and  scenic  splendor.  They  are  the  works  of  the  poet 
of  the  Buen  Retiro,  the  director  of  the  court  enter- 
tainments. We  pass  from  these  to  romantic  dramas, 
in  which  the  poet  occupies  a  fable-land  altogether  of 
his  own  creation,  as  in  Life's  a  Dream,  an  analysis 
of  which,  with  large  translations,  will  be  found  in  this 
volume  ;  or  draws  on  the  later  Greek  romances,  as  in 
Theagenes  and  Chariclea;  or  on  Boiardo  and  Ari- 
osto ;  or,  it  may  be,  on  the  prose-tales  of  chivalry,  as 
in  The  Bridge  of  Mantible,  on  which  play  Schlegel 
has  bestowed  the  pains  of  translation.  These  form  a 
not  inconsiderable  group. 

Then,  further,  among  his  Comedias,  which  is  the 
general  title  whereby  all  in  Spain  that  is  not  either 
on  the  one  side  farce,  on  the  other  religious  mystery, 
is  called,  he  has  many  tragedies,  which,  by  their  effect- 
ual working  on  the  springs  of  passion,  assert  their 
right  to  this  serious  name.  Some  of  these  might  al- 
most as  fitly  have  been  enumerated  among  his  historic 
compositions.  The  Spanish  drama  moves  too  freely, 
too  nearly  resembles  the  free,  spontaneous  growths  of 
Nature,  to  admit  of  any  very  easy  or  very  rigorous 
classification.  Like  Nature,  it  continually  defies  and 
breaks  through  all  artificial  arrangements  of  its  pro- 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON.  41 

ductions,  and  one  must  be  content  to  class  those  under 
one  head  which  might  as  well,  or  nearly  as  well,  be 
classed  under  another.  Still,  as  in  some  of  these  com- 
positions the  tragic,  in  others  the  historic  element  is 
predominant,  they  may  be  arranged,  even  while  they 
partake  of  both,  according  to  this  predominance. 
Among  the  noblest  in  this  kind  is  Jealousy  the  Great- 
est Monster ;  it  is  the  story  of  Herod  and  Mariamne, 
and  a  genuine  fate-drama,  of  colossal  grandeur  in  both 
the  conception  and  execution.  The  tragedies  of  a 
Spaniard  writing  for  Spaniards,  which  should  turn  on 
jealousy,  might  beforehand  be  expected  to  claim  espe- 
cial notice ;  and  indeed  Calderon  has  three  or  four 
others  in  this  kind,  of  shuddering  horror,  in  which  the 
Spanish  pundonor  is  pushed  to  its  bloodiest  excess, 
but  the  fearful  power  and  immense  effect  of  which  it 
is  impossible  not  to  acknowledge.  The  Physician  of 
his  own  Honor  is  one  of  these,  but  less  horrible,  and 
perhaps  therefore  more  terrible,  is  another,  noticeable 
likewise  as  a  very  masterpiece  of  construction.  For  a 
Secret  Wrong-  a  Secret  Revenge,  which  is  one  of  the 
very  highest  efforts  of  his  genius.*  Hallam,  not  deny- 
ing but  admitting  freely  its  singular  efficiency  and 
power,  has  yet  called  it  "  an  atrocious  play ;"  but  he 
seems  to  me  to  have  missed  the  point  which  certainly 
mitigates  its  atrocity,  namely,  that  the  murdered  wife 

*  It  is  translated  into  French  by  Damas  Hinard,  Chefs  cTceuvre  du 
Theatre  Espagnd,  t.  ii.,  pp.  157-213. 


42  THE  GENIUS  OF  CALDERON. 

is  SO  far  guilty,  that  she  is  only  waiting  the  opportu- 
nity to  be  so. 

Another  tragedy,  but  not  of  jealousy.  Love  after 
Death,  is  connected  with  the  hopeless  rising  of  the 
Moriscoes  in  the  Alpujarras  (1568-1570),  one  of 
whom  is  its  hero.  It  is,  for  many  reasons,  worthy  of 
note  ;  among  other,  as  showing  how  far  Calderon 
could  rise  above  national  prejudices,  and  expend  all 
the  treasures  of  his  genius  in  glorifying  the  heroic 
devotedness  of  a  noble  foe.  La  Nina  de  Gomez 
Arias  is  founded  on  one  of  the  most  popular  of  Span- 
ish ballads.  The  scene  in  this,  where  Gomez  Arias 
sells  to  the  Moors  the  mistress  of  whom  he  has  grown 
weary,  and  who  now  stands  in  his  way,  despite  her 
entreaties  and  reproaches,  I  should  accept  as  alone 
sufficient  to  decide  the  question  whether  the  deepest 
springs  of  passion  were  his  to  open.  It  is  nothing 
strange  to  hear  that  on  one  occasion  a  poor  Spanish 
alg'uazil,  who  was  serving  as  guard  of  honor  on  the 
stage,  drew  his  sword,  and  rushed  among  the  actors, 
determined  that  the  outrage  should  not  go  on  before 
his  eyes.  And  seeing  that  Calderon's  world  seems 
sometimes  to  consist  too  exclusively  of  the  higher 
classes,  and  just  such  of  the  lower  as  minister  imme- 
diately to  their  pleasures  or  necessities — the  hearty 
homeliness  of  England's  greatest  poets,  as  of  Chaucer 
and  Shakespeare,  being  only  too  rare  in  him — one 
must  not  pass  over  his  painful  but  noble  tragedy  of 


THE  GENIUS   OP  CALDERON.  43 

humble  life,  The  Mayor  of  Zalamea*  He  has  fre- 
quently been  denied  the  faculty  of  drawing  characters. 
Now,  that  his  characters  are  sometimes  deficient  in 

*  Wc  owe  an  admirable  translation  of  this  play  to  Mr.  Fitzgerald. 
I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  more  of  his  translations  hereafter.  The 
speech  of  Isabella,  the  humble  Lucretia  of  this  tragedy,  as  she  mourns 
over  her  mighty  wrong,  he  characterizes  as  "  almost  the  most  elevated 
and  purely  beautiful  piece  of  Calderon's  poetry  he  knows ;  a  speech 
(the  beginning  of  it)  worthy  the  Greek  Antigone."  As  I  believe  that 
my  readers,  even  those  who  do  not  read  Spanish  with  facility,  will 
yet  be  obliged  for  occasional  quotations  from  the  original,  I  will  cite 
so  much  of  this  lament  as  probably  Mr.  F.  alludes  to : — 
"Nunca  amenezca  a  mis  ojos 

La  luz  hemiosa  del  dia, 

Porque  A  su  nombre  no  tenga 

Verguenza  yo  de  mi  misma. 

i  0  tii,  de  tantas  estrellas 

Primavera  fugitiva. 

No  des  lugar  a  la  aurora, 

Que  tu  azul  campafla  pisa, 

Para  que  con  risa  y  Uanto  • 

Borre  tu  apacible  vista ! 

Y  ya  que  ha  de  ser,  que  sea 

Con  llanto,  mas  no  con  risa. 

i  Detente,  o  mayor  planeta, 

Mas  tiempo  en  la  espuraa  fria 

Del  mar  !     ;  Deja,  que  una  vez 

Dilate  la  noche  esquiva 

Su  tr^mulo  imperio ;  deja, 

Que  de  tu  deidad  se  diga, 

Atenta  d  mis  ruegos,  que  es 

Voluntaria,  y  no  precisa ! 

i  Para  qu6  quieres  salir 

A  ver  en  la  historia  mia 

La  mas  enorme  maldad. 

La  mas  fiera  tirania. 

Que  en  venganza  de  los  hombrcs 

Quiere  el  cielo  que  se  escriba  ? 

Mas,  ay  de  mi !  que  parece 


44  THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON. 

strong  individual  delineation,  is  certainly  true ;  but 
that  it  is  not  always  so,  this  tragedy  sufficiently  at- 
tests. It  is  not  here  the  peasant-judge  alone  who  is 
distinctly  marked,  but  almost  every  other  of  the  dra- 
matis personce  as  well. 

To  all  these  must  be  added  his  comedies  in  our 
sense  of  the  word,  themselves  a  world  of  infinite  vari- 
ety, but  one  in  which  I  must  not  linger.  Ulrici,  indeed, 
says  that  in  comedy  was  Calderon's  forte ;  "  therein 
first  his  truly  poetical  genius  unfolds  its  full  strength."* 
I  can  not  agree  with  him.  These  seem  to  me  but  the 
lighter  play,  as  contrasted  with  the  earnest  toil,  of  his 
spirit.  Moreover,  while  he  was  a  master  in  the  com- 
edy of  situation,  the  vein  of  his  comic  dialogue  is  often 
forced,  and  often  flows  scantily  enough.  He  does  not 
deal  aways  with  humble  life  in  perfect  good  faith ;  it  is' 
too  often  a  sort  of  parody  of  his  high  life,  itself  a  high 
life  below-stairs.  Their  charm  consists  in  the  ideal 
grace  and  beauty  in  which  they  are  steeped,  the  warm 
atmosphere  of  poetry  and  romance  which  he  generally 
succeeds  in  difiusing  over  them.  I  can  only  indicate 
a  few  of  the  most  celebrated,  as   The  Fairy  Lady^ 

Que  es  cnieldad  tu  tirania ; 
Pues  desde  que  te  he  rogado, 
Que  te  detuviescs,  miran 
Mis  ojos  tu  faz  hermosa 
DescoUai'se  por  encima 
De  los  montes." 
*  Shakspeare  und  sein  Verhdltniss  zu  Calderon  und  Goethe,  Hallo, 
1839,  p.  533. 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON.  45 

which,  variously  transformed,  has  found  a  home  in 
almost  all  lands ;  The  Jailer  of  Himself,  a  finished 
piece  of  comedy,  just  playing  on  the  verge  of  tragedy ; 
The  Loud  Secret,  and  The  Scarf  and  the  Flower. 
Finally,  we  must  add  to  these  the  Autos,  or  religious 
mysteries,  of  which  there  will  be  occasion  to  speak 
by-and-by,  for  they  claim  a  separate  consideration. 
Putting  all  together,  we  must  confess  that  the  reach 
and  compass  of  that  poetical  world  which  Calderon 
sought  to  occupy,  Avas  not  small. 

To  speak  now  of  some  of  the  technical  merits  of 
Calderon  in  dealing  with  his  subject,  after  which  it 
may  be  time  to  consider  other  matters  which  lie  less 
on  the  surface.  We  observe,  then,  in  him  the  com- 
pletest  mastery  of  his  material ;  all  is  laid  out  to  the 
best  advantage,  all  is  calculated  and  weighed  before- 
hand. There  are  no  after-thoughts,  no  changes  of 
plan  as  the  composition  was  growing  under  his 
hand,  out  of  which  the  conclusion  suits  ill  with  the 
beginning ;  but,  as  one  perceives  on  a  second  reading, 
glimpses  of  the  last  and  preparations  for  it  appear 
very  often  from  the  very  first.  Vast  as  is  the  cycle 
of  his  compositions — his  dramas  are  more  than  one 
hundred  and  twenty,  his  autos  more  than  seventy, 
being  nearly  two  hundred  in  all,  a  number  which 
would  appear  vaster  still  if  there  were  not  Lope  at 
hand  with  his  fifteen  hundred  to  make  Calderon's  fer- 
tility appear  almost  like  barrenness — there  are  no- 


46  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

where  in  them  any  tokens  of  haste.  All  parts  are 
fully  and  in  the  measure  of  their  importance  equably 
wrought  out.  Inequalities,  of  course,  there  will  be, 
for  every  poet  will  at  one  time  soar' higher  than  mi 
another ;  but  there  are  nowhere  to  be  found  the  evi 
dences  of  carelessness  or  haste.  Several  of  his  dra- 
mas, like  more  than  one  of  Shakespeare's,  have  been 
laboriously  recast  and  rewritten,  so  that  we  possess 
them  in  two  shapes — in  their  earlier  and  immaturer, 
in  their  later  and  riper  forms. 

Nor,  fruitful  as  his  pen  was,  is  it  anything  impossi- 
ble that  he  should  have  bestowed  on  all  his  works 
that  careful  elaboration  for  which  I  have  here  given 
him  credit.  Almost  all  poets  of  a  first-rate  excel- 
lence, dramatic  poets  above  all,  have  been  nearly  as 
remarkable  for  the  quantity  as  the  quality  of  their 
compositions ;  nor  has  the  first  injuriously  affected  the 
second.  Witness  the  seventy  dramas  of  JEschylus, 
the  more  than  ninety  of  Euripides,  the  hundred  and 
thirteen  of  Sophocles.  And  if  we  consider  the  few 
years  during  which  Shakespeare  wrote,  his  fruitful- 
ness  is  not  less  extraordinary.  The  vein  has  been 
a  large  and  a  copious  one,  and  has  flowed  freely  forth, 
keeping  itself  free  and  clear  by  the  very  act  of  its 
constant  ebullition.  And  the  fact  is  very  explicable ; 
it  is  not  so  much  that  they  have  spoken,  as  their  na- 
tion that  has  spoken  by  them. 

And,  in  the  instance  before  us,  we  should  not  leave 


THE  GENIUS  OF  CALDERON.  47 

out  of  sight  to  how  great  an  age  the  poet  attained. 
His  life,  like  that  of  Sophocles  and  of  Goethe,  was 
prolonged  beyond  his  eightieth  year.  Not  only  was  his 
life  a  long  one,  but  it  was  a  life  singularly  free  from 
all  outward  disturbances  ;  in  this  most  unlike  those  of 
liis  great  fellow-countrymen  Lope  and  Cervantes.  He 
did  not  write  for  his  bread,  as,  with  all  his  popularity, 
did  the  former ;  he  was  no  shuttlecock  of  fortune,  no 
wrestler  with  poverty  as  with  an  armed  man,  and  that 
for  barest  life,  as  the  immortal  author  of  Don  Quix- 
ote. It  might  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  had 
known  some  of  these  conflicts ;  or  perhaps,  with  his 
temperament,  it  might  not.  At  all  events,  such  were 
not  assigned  to  him.  The  generosity  of  the  monarch 
whom  he  seized,  the  large  incomings  of  the  prefer- 
ments which  he  held — these,  even  supposing  that 
high  literature  was  no  better  rewarded  in  his  case 
than  in  that  of  many  others,  must  have  exempted  him 
from  all  anxieties  about  money ;  indeed,  he  appears 
to  have  had  a  considerable  property  to  bequeath  at 
his  death :  and  his  whole  life,  with  the  exception  of 
his  campaigns  in  the  Milanese  and  in  Flanders,  which 
can  not  have  been  lost  time  to  him  even  in  this  re- 
spect, and  his  brief  service  in  Catalonia,  may  very 
well  have  been  dedicated  entirely  to  the  cultivation 
of  his  art. 

Neither  did  he  make  for  himself,  as  do  so  many  to 
whom  the  perilous  gifts  of  genius  have  been  allotted, 


48  THE  GENIUS  OF   CALDEKON. 

those  cares  and  disquietudes  from  which  he  had  been 
graciously  exempted  from  without.  No  one  can  doubt 
that  to  him  was  given  a  cheerful  spirit,  working  joy- 
ously, and  with  no  doubts  nor  misgivings,  in  that 
sphere  which  it  found  marked  out  for  it.  Doubtless 
that  which  the  Schlegels  affirm  was  true  in  respect  of 
him :  the  world's  riddle  was  solved  for  him,  and  solved 
in  the  light  of  faith.  The  answer  which  he  had  found, 
and  which  he  offers  to  others,  may  be  quite  unsatisfy- 
ing to  them :  it  fully  satisfied  him.  No  one  can  con- 
template the  noble  portrait  occasionally  prefixed  to 
his  works — the  countenance  so  calm,  so  clear,  so  re- 
solved, surmounted  with  the  dome-like  expanse  of  that 
meditative  brow* — and  not  feel  that  to  him,  if  to 
any,  were  given  "  the  serene  temples  of  the  wise." 
And  this  lasted  to  the  end.  He  was  not  of  those  too 
many  poets,  who  only  "  do  begin  their  lives  in  glad- 
ness ;"  it  was  gladness  with  him  to  the  end.  It  was 
with  him  as  with  those  mountain-summits,  which,  ever 
as  they  rise  the  higher,  thrust  themselves  up  into 
clearer  and  purer  air  ;  for  we  may  distinctly  mark,  as 
his  years  advance,  an  increasing  desire  in  him  to  with- 
draw himself  from  secular  themes,  to  dedicate  his 
genius  wholly  to  the  service  of  religion.f 

♦  In  a  poem  published  immediately  after  his  death,  his  eulogist 
celebrates,  "  de  su  rostro  grave  lo  capaz  de  la  frente."  It  is  a  coun- 
tenance not  without  its  resemblances  to  Shakespeare's,  but  wanting 
(and  how  great  a  want !)  every  indication  of  his  humor. 

t  In  his  epitaph  these  words  occur:  "  Quas  summo  plausu  vivens 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  49 

Then,  further,  in  every  estimate  of  Calderon's  mer- 
its his  infinite  dramatic  tact  and  skill  may  well  claim 
to  be  prominently  urged.  To  some,  indeed,  he  is  only 
a  playwright.  Now,  playwright  no  doubt  he  was — 
the  most  finished  and  accomplished,  probably,  that  the 
world  ever  saw — understanding  the  mechanism  of 
dramatic  construction  better  than  it  has  ever  been  mi- 
derstood  by  any  other.  It  is  no  doubt  in  this  sense, 
and  having  this  merit  in  view,  that  Schiller  has  said 
of  him :  "  This  poet  would  have  saved  Goethe  and 
myself  from  many  mistakes  if  we  had  learned  to  know 
him  earlier."  At  the  same  tim'e  we  should  entirely 
-Tvrong  Calderon  if  we  merely  gave  him  credit  for  a 
power  of  stage-effect,  and  not  for  this  as  subservient 
to  the  highest  interest  of  art. 

Let  me  illustrate,  by  a  single  instance,  what  I  mean. 
I  have  already  mentioned  his  Locks  of  Absalom  as 
one  of  his  finest  plays  founded  on  a  scriptural  subject. 
There  is  nothing  in  its  kind  grander  than  the  scene 
in  this,  where  Amnon  is  slain  at  the  command  of  his 
brother  Absalom.  The  marvellous  skill  with  which 
this  dreadful  deed  is  prepared  and  brought  about  de- 
serves the  very  highest  admiration.  With  the  inter- 
val of  long  years  which  had  elapsed  between  this  mur- 
der and  the  crime  which  it  avenged,  the  utter  absence 

scripsit,  moriens  prsescribendo  despexit."  None  of  his  biographers, 
that  I  am  aware  of,  have  taken  any  notice  of  the  words,  or  sought  to 
measure  how  much  they  imply.  Did  he  denounce,  or  wish  the  sup- 
pression of,  his  secular  plays  ? 

3 


50  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

of  all  suspicion  with  which  Amnon  had  accepted  his 
brother's  invitation,  an  inferior  artist  might,  indeed 
certainly  would,  have  so  brought  about  the  catastro- 
phe as  merely  to  have  revolted  the  spectators  with 
what  would  have  seemed  a  cold-blooded  fratricide. 
But  Calderon,  with  rare  skill,  and  in  one  of  the  no- 
blest scenes  which  his  theatre  possesses,  brings  the 
spectator  to  the  point  at  which  he  still  feels  that  it  is 
indeed  evil  punishing  evil,  the  wicked  being  used  as 
scourges  of  the  wicked ;  but  he  is  not  so  far  removed 
from  all  sympathy  with  the  deed  as  would  altogether 
mar  the  efiPect. 

The  idyllic  aspect  of  the  whole  scene  of  the  sheep- 
shearing  (2  Sam.  xiii.  23),  the  pastoral  quietness,  the 
groups  of  simple  shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  form  a 
contrast  the  most  striking  with  the  act  of  a  terrible 
revenge  which  is  presently  to  stain  that  green  turf 
with  blood.  Tamar,  ever  since  her  wrong,  has  lived 
in  deepest  seclusion  in  this  country-place  of  her  broth- 
er's, "  desolate  in  her  brother  Absalom's  house,"  and 
moves  like  a  dark  shadow  among  the  simple  and  joy- 
ous shepherdesses  of  the  land ;  for  the  sin  of  Amnon 
shows  itself  also  in  this,  that  it  has  turned  her  whole 
soul,  who  was  once  gentle  and  loving,  to  bitterness, 
and  hate,  and  the  lust  of  revenge.  The  royal  youths 
are  assembled  ;  they  have  brought  with  them  the  man- 
ners of  the  court,  its  freedom  and  its  license,  and  do 
not  fail  to  show  that  they  have  done  so.     Teuca,  an 


THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON.  51 

aged  prophetess  or  hag,  one  hardly  knows  which,  but 
in  the  secret  of  the  blow  which  is  about  to  fall,  dis- 
tributes different  flowers  to  each — to  Solomon,  to 
Adonijah,  to  Absalom,  to  Amnon — to  each  with  am- 
biguous words ;  and  in  each  case  the  flower,  with  the 
words  which  accompany  it,  and  the  answer  which  it 
calls  out,  have  something  prophetic  of  the  future  for- 
tunes of  the  receiver.  There  is  for  each,  in  all  this, 
an  unconscious  prophecy  of  his  own  doom.  The  whole 
forms  the  most  wonderful  preparation  for  that  which 
is  about  to  be.  The  words  which  seem  spoken  at 
random,  and  which  yet  shall  prove  most  literally  true 
— the  irony  of  fate,  which  unconsciously  draws  out 
of  men's  own  lips  the  sentence  of  their  doom — the 
first  mutterings  of  those  divine  judgments  which  shall 
presently  break  in  thunder  over  their  heads — are  all 
here. 

Presently  the  banquet  is  announced,  and  the  other 
guests  go  in.  Ammon  alone  tarries  behind.  The 
same  that  he  was  of  old,  wanton  and  injurious,  he  has 
been  taken  with  the  shape  and  grace  of  one  of  these 
veiled  shepherdesses,  and  will  make  near  acquaintance 
with  her.  Her  replies  to  his  advances  are  abrupt, 
yet  full  of  mysterious  allusions  to  that  which  has 
been,  to  that  which  shall  so  shortly  be,  to  the  past 
outrage,  to  the  coming  revenge.  Does  she  refuse  to 
unveil  at  his  request? — he  will  force  her  thereto. 
He  is  very  fond  of  force,  she  answers.     At  last  he 


62  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

does  forcibly  remove  her  veil,  and  perceiving  that  it 
is  Tamar,  rushes  out  as  from  a  Medusa's  face  with 
horror  and  dismay.  "HI  beginning,"  he  exclaims, 
"  this  banquet  has  had."  "  But  it  shall  have  a  worse 
ending,"  she  replies.  How  marvellous  the  art  in  this 
way  to  reproduce  the  feeling  of  the  original  outrage 
in  the  spectators,  to  revive  in  its  strength  the  indig- 
nation against  it  which  the  long  spaces  of  intervening 
time  might  else  have  weakened  in  great  part.  Amnon 
has  scarcely  gone  out,  when  one  cry,  and  then  anoth- 
er, is  heard  within,  for  mercy  from  Amnon,  of  tri- 
umphant vengeance  mingled  with  Tamar's  name  from 
Absalom.  It  is  but  the  work  of  a  moment — for  no 
one  knows  better  than  Calderon  when  and  where  to 
precipitate  the  action — and  the  scene  opens  ;  the  in- 
jurious Amnon  lies  dead  across  the  tables  with  a 
bloody  napkin  thrown  over  him  ;  Absalom  stands  tri- 
umphing above  him ;  his  sister  takes  her  place  by  his 
side ;  while  of  the  other  guests  some  are  flying,  and 
others  grouped  in  wildest  confusion  around.  She  had 
said  in  the  moment  of  her  agony,  "  I  will  cry  to  heav- 
en."" "  Heaven  answers  late,"  he  had  scornfully  re- 
plied. This  was  true,  but  though  late  it  had  an- 
swered still.  There  are  scenes  in  Calderon  equal  to 
this ;  I  know  of  none  in  which  his  genius  shines  more 
gloriously  forth. 

"When  Calderon  wrote,  that  noble  Castilian  lan- 
guage, the  stateliest  of  the  daughters  of  the  Latin, 


THE  GENIUS  OF   CALDERON.  '    68 

not  clipped  and  cut  short  like  the  hungry  French, 
which  devours  so  many  of  its  syllables,  not  emascu- 
lated, like  the  Italian,  nor  eviscerated,  like  the  Por- 
tuguese, was  in  its  prime,  perhaps  just  beginning  to 
decline  from  it.  Of  this  glorious  tongue  there  is  no 
greater  master  than  he.  There  seems  no  bidding  of 
his  which  it  does  not  wait  to  fulfil ;  and  he  sometimes 
loves  to  display  his  mastery  in  it  by  tours  de  force^ 
which  are  executed  by  him  seemingly  with  the  most 
perfect  ease,  and  which  give  no  sign  of  the  difl&culty 
which  must  have  attended  their  accomplishment.  He 
did  not  indeed  wield  the  language  at  all  periods  of 
his  life  with  equal  felicity.  Rich,  ornate,  and  deco- 
rated, as  his  diction  always  is,  if  only  there  is  any- 
thing to  justify  its  being  so,  he  did  not  in  his  youth 
altogether  escape  the  dulcia  vitia  of  the  estilo  culio, 
which  was  the  fashion  then ;  while  in  the  works  of 
his  old  age  there  is  a  certain  re-appearance  of  early 
faults,  and  this  without  the  fiery  vigor  of  youth  to 
excuse  or  conceal  them ;  but  take  him  at  his  best, 
and  none  can  justly  deny  him  this  praise. 

Let  us  seek  in  other  matters  to  measure  out  to  him 
the  praise  or  the  blame  which  are  fairly  his,  to  avoid 
the  extravagances  in  either  of  which  not  a  few  have 
been  guilty.  The  wealth  and  prodigality  of  Calde- 
ron's  imagery  has  been  often  extolled  and  admired ; 
and  with  justice ;  while  yet,  wealthy  and  prodigal  as 
he  appears  to  be,  and  no  doubt  is,  at  the  same  time 


64    "       *  THE  GENIUS  OF   CALDEEON. 

he  is  not  quite  so  wealthy,  nor  yet  of  quite  so  un- 
bounded a  prodigality,  as  might  at  first  sight  appear. 
His  almond-trees,  his  phoenixes,  his  "  flowers  which 
are  the  stars  of  earth,"  and  "  stars  which  are  the 
flowers  of  heaven,"  recur  somewhat  too  often.  He 
squanders  in  the  confidence  that  what  he  scatters 
abroad  will  presently  come  back  again  to  his  hands ; 
seeing  that  what  he  has  onced  used,  he  will  not  there- 
fore feel  the  slightest  scruple  in  using  a  second  time 
or  a  hundredth. 

Nor  does  his  repetition  of  himself  confine  itself  to 
these  matters  merely  external.  His  inner  spiritual 
world,  though  a  wide  one,  is  not,  like  Shakespeare's, 
a  universal  one.  It  does  not  stretch  itself  in  every 
direction,  till  it  loses  itself  in  the  infinite.  On  the 
contrary,  it  has  limits,  and  those  very  fixed  and  rigid 
ones,  beyond  which  it  never  extends.  Certain  fac- 
tors, love,  honor,  religion,  never  fail  to  produce  the 
same  results,  and  this  with  so  fixed  a  recurrence,  that 
one  sometimes  begins  to  be  afraid  lest  the  whole  mat- 
ter should  sink  into  a  mechanical  contrivance ;  being 
almost  tempted  in  moments  of  displeasure  to  liken  his 
poetry  to  the  shifting  combinations  of  the  kaleido- 
scope, which,  ever  as  you  turn  it,  yields  only  what 
you  had  seen  already,  however  it  may  yield  this, 
brought  into  new  and  surprising  combinations.  Thus 
when  Goethe  likens  Calderon's  plays  to  bullets  or 
leaden  soldiers  cast  all  in  the  same  mould,  he  ex- 


THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON.  •  65 

presses  this  particular  fault,  and  by  a  comparison 
which  at  first  appears  to  be  utterly  contemptuous.* 
It  must  not  however  be  so  taken ;  for  Goethe  had  a 
sincere  admiration  for  Calderon,  although  always 
with  certain  restrictions,  and  setting  himself  against 
the  extravagance  of  his  German  worshippers ;  of 
whom  he  complains  that,  instead  of  drinking  in  the 
spirit  of  Calderon,  and  nourishing  themselves  and 
their  own  art  from  his,  they  merely  appropriated  and 
reproduced  his  forms  ;  or,  as  in  another  place  he  ex- 
presses it :  "  Unhappily  we  Germans  set  his  tender 
side  in  relation  with  our  weak.  Of  his  true  strength 
there  is  little  apprehension  among  us."f  With  this 
agree  other  utterances  of  his,  wherein  he  shows,  but 
always  with  full  honor  to  the  poet,  his  jealousy  of  the 
Calderomania  which  was  the  fashion  in  his  time,  and 
of  the  questionable  influence  which  it  was  exercising 

*  Riemer  (Mittheilungen  uber  Goethe,  b.  ii.  p.  648) :  "  Unendliche 
Prodactivitat  des  Calderon,  und  Leichtigkeit  des  Gasses,  wie  wenn 
Mann  Bleisoldaten  oder  Kugeln  giesse."  Compare  a  letter  of  Tieck's 
in  Solger's  Nachgelassene  Schriften,  b.  i.  p.  683 :  "  Dieser  Geist  ist 
eine  der  sonderbarsten  Erscheinungen  :  kaam  eine  Spur  von  der  gros- 
sen  Vemunft,  die  den  Shakspearo  so  himmlisch  und  acht  human 
macht ;  nichts  mehr  von  jener  grossen  Naivetat,  die  ich  immer  am 
Lope  bewundem  muss ;  aber  diifiir  der  durchgearbeiteste  Manierist 
(im  guten  Sinn),  den  ich  kenne."  Compare  p.  696:  "  Calderon.  ist 
ein  vollendeter  Manierist,  und  in  seiner  ]Mamer  gross  und  unverbes- 
serlich." 

t  Riemer  (Mittheilungen  vher  Goethe,  b.  i.  p.  649)  :  " Leider  werden 
wir  Deutsche  eben  seine  zarte  Seite  mit  unseren  schwachen  in  Rap- 
port setzen.  Von  seiner  wahren  Starke  ist  noch  wenig  Begriff 
uater  ans." 


56  THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON. 

on  the  dramatic  art  of  his  country.*  Thus  on  one 
occasion  he  does  not  hesitate  to  express  himself  in 
such  language  as  the  following :  "  How  much  of  false 
Shakespeare  and  still  more  Calderon  have  brought 
upon  us,  the  way  in  which  these  two  great  lights  in 
the  poetic  heaven  have  become  will  o'  the  wisps  for 
us,  it  will  be  for  the  historian  of  literature  in  the  fu- 
ture time  to  record."! 

But  some,  perhaps,  who  would  allow  to  a  poet  the 
right  to  borrow  freely  from  himself,  and  to  repeat 
himself,  would  deny  him  the  same  liberty  in  respect 
of  his  neighbors.  It  must  be  confessed  that  Calderon 
often  lays  hands  upon  his  neighbor's  property ;  ma- 
king large  use  of  their  labors  who  have  gone  before 
him,  so  large  that  it  has  been  sometimes  urged  as  a 
diminution  of  his  own  proper  fame.  But  against  how 
many  poets  of  the  foremost  rank  might  the  same 
charge  be  brought.  Chaucer  uses  Gower  as  if  he 
had  been  a  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of  water  for 
him.  Whatever  Shakespeare  found  ready  to  his 
hand,  and  promising  to  serve  his  turn,  he  entered 
upon  it  as  his  own  rightful  possession.  It  is  not  the 
amount  of  his  predecessor's  toils  which  a  poet  em- 
ploys, but  the  proportion  which  this  holds  to  that 

*  On  this  matter  see  Gervinus,  Gesch.  der  National  Literatur,  b.  v. 
p.  604. 

J  Goethe,  Sdmmtliche  Werke,  Paris,  1836,  b.  v.  p.  62.  In  the 
same  place  he  ascribes  to  the  last,  das  bis  zum  Unwahren  gesteigerte 
Talent. 


THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON.  57 

which  he  has  of  his  own,  by  which  we  must  judge 
whether  his  position  in  the  kingdom  of  art  is  aflfccted 
thereby  or  not.  He  who  knows  that,  if  need  were, 
he  could  produce  as  good,  or  better,  of  his  own,  en- 
ters fearlessly  and  without  diminution  to  his  own 
honors  on  the  stored  treasures  of  those  who  have 
gone  before  him.  He  has  a  great  work  to  do ;  and 
all  that  will  save  him  labor  and  time  in  the  doing  is 
welcome,  not  to  his  indolence,  nor  to  any  desire  in 
him  to  array  himself  in  other  men's  garments,  and 
adorn  himself  with  other  men's  plumes ;  but  welcome 
as  giving  him  freer  scope  and  larger  room  for  his 
own  exertion.  He  is  a  plagiary,  who  has  borrowed 
but  once,  if  that  one  borrowing  constitutes  the  whole 
of  his  wealth,  and  that  which,  being  withdrawn  from 
him,  would  leave  him  nothing.  He  is  no  plagiary, 
who  has  appropriated  a  thousand  times,  if  these  ap- 
propriations are  still  in  entire  subordination  to  his 
own  native  wealth.  What  free  use  was  made,  for 
example,  by  Milton,  of  all  which  he  had  ever  read ; 
but  yet  it  would  not  leave  him  perceptibly  poorer,  if 
this  all  were  recovered  from  him.  In  this  matter  of 
entering  upon  other  men's  labors,  the  liberty  among 
poets  is  permitted  to  the  rich,  which  is  denied  to  the 
poor. 

But  this  is  not  all.  In  truly  creative  periods  of 
literature,  when  extensive  regions  are  being  added 
day  by  day  to  its  empire,  it  is  ever  observable  that 


68  .    THE  GENIUS  OF  CALDEEON. 

there  are  no  such  rigid  and  anxious  lines  of  demarca- 
tion between  mine  and  thine,  as  in  more  artificial  and 
less  genially  productive  epochs.  It  is  not  then  as 
when  every  poet  and  poetaster  counts  that  he  has  his 
own  little  domain  of  reputation  to  defend,  his  own 
little  credit  for  originality  to  uphold.  There  is  a 
large  and  liberal  giving  and  taking,  and  this  with 
leave  or  without  leave,  of  which  it  is  difficult  at  other 
times  to  form  a  conception.  Whatever  has  been  al- 
ready done  is  felt  to  be  more  the  common  property 
of  all,  than  the  single  possession  of  any  one.  The 
individual  author  falls  out  of  sight  in  the  general  na- 
tional mind  of  which  he  is  the  utterance  and  the 
voice.  In  that  mind  and  from  it  he  has  found  his  in- 
spiration, and  whatever  he  has  uttered  belongs  more 
to  all  than  to  one.  He  has  thrown  it  into  the  com- 
mon stock ;  and  henceforth  it  is  there  for  others  to 
employ,  for  each  who  can  justify  his  use,  by  improv- 
ing upon  it  while  he  uses. 

In  another  matter  Calderon  is  less  to  be  defended ; 
I  mean  in  a  certain  excess  of  the  intellectual  faculty 
in  the  disposition  and  carrying  out  his  plots.  They 
are  calculated  overmuch  :*  there  is  so  accurate  and 
premeditated  a  balancing  of  part  against  part,  so  fine 

*  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  that  Voltaire  could  have  more  entirely 
missed  the  mark  than  he  has  done,  when  speaking  of  Calderon's  dra- 
ma, he  has  said,  "  C'est  la  nature  abandonnee  a  ellee-mcme."  The 
words  arc  adopted  in  the  article  on  Calderon  in  the  Biographic 

Universelle. 


THE  GENIUS  OF  CALDERON.  69 

and  curious  a  dove-tailing,  that,  ingenious  as  it  ever, 
marvellous  as  it  sometimes  is,  still  there  is  felt  in  it  too 
much  of  calculation,  too  little  of  passion.  It  has  degen- 
erated sometimes  into  that  which  almost  looks  like  trick. 
The  symmetrical  is  attained,  but  attained  by  means 
which  lie  too  plainly  on  the  surface ;  it  is  the  symme- 
try of  artifice,  which  betrays  itself  at  once  as  such  ; 
and  not  the  latent  symmetry,  which,  lying  so  much 
deeper,  will  often  look  like  confusion  and  disorder  at 
the  first.  Strange  as  it  may  sound,  when  compared 
to  a  frequent  estimate  of  his  poetical  character,  there 
are  plays  of  Calderon  which  remind  one  of  notliing  so 
much  as  of  a  Dutch  garden,  where  every  alley  has  its 
alley  corresponding,  and  every  tree  is  nodding  to  its 
brother. 

It  was  not  indeed  possible  for  him,  arriving  as  he 
did  at  the  latter  end  of  a  great  burst  of  poetry,  to  be 
other  than  a  self-conscious  poet.  This  burst  of  poo- 
try  had  now  lasted  so  long,  had  produced  so  many 
poetical  masterpieces  which  invited  study,  had  en- 
joyed such  ample  time  for  reflecting  upon  itself,  and' 
upon  the  means  by  which  its  efiects  were  brought 
about,  that  self-consciousness  had  become  inevitable. 
Of  many  a  great  artist  it  is  difficult  to  think  that  he 
knew,  however  his  genius  may  have  known,  the  meth- 
ods by  which  he  attained  his  glorious  successes.  It 
is  impossible  to  believe  this  for  a  moment  of  Calde- 
ron.    He  knew  them,  and,  as  it  sometimes  seems  to 


60  THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON. 

one,  knew  tnem  only  too  well.  In  fact  he  not  merely 
concluded  an  era ;  but  it  would  not  be  too  much  to 
affirm  of  him,  that  he  hastened  its  conclusion  ;  leav- 
ing as  he  did  so  little  possible  for  those  who  came 
after.  Every  device  and  resource  of  his  art,  moral 
and  material,  had  been  pushed  by  him  as  far  as  it 
would  go,  had  attained  its  very  utmost  limits.  The 
rose  of  dramatic  art  in  him  was  full  blown,  so  fully 
blown,  so  near  being  overblown,  that  there  remained 
nothing  for  its  leaves  but  to  fall.  It  would  be  alto- 
gether unjust  to  him  to  affirm  that  he  corrupted  the 
taste  of  his  fellow-countrymen ;  but  still  he  had  ac- 
customed them  to  such  rich  and  gorgeous  gratification 
at  once  of  eye  and  ear,  that  those  who  came  after 
found  only  two  alternatives  before  them,  in  each  of 
which  the  certainty  of  failure  was  for  them  equally 
bound  up.  Either,  conscious  of  the  inferiority  of 
their  genius,  they  might  creep  near  the  ground  with 
low  and  timid  flight — a  course  which  the  high-raised 
expectation  of  their  hearers  would  not  now  endure ; 
or  else  they  might  emulate  his  flight,  when  they  be- 
came ridiculous,  attempting  that  which  only  such 
genius  as  his  could  justify  or  carry  through,  their 
waxen  wings  miserably  failing  them  so  soon  as  they 
endeavored  to  soar  into  that  empyrean  region,  where 
he  had  securely  held  his  way.  They  chose  for  the 
most  part  this,  the  more  ambitious  course,  but  one  in 
which  their  failure  was  the  more  signal.     It  has  been 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON.  61 

well  observed,  "  His  popularity  hastened  the  fall  of 
the  drama,  by  quickening  a  vulgar  appetite  for  the 
pleasures  of  the  eye,  and  his  example  brought  into 
vogue  a  class  of  pieces  written  for  scene-painters  and 
machinists  which  reached  the  height  of  absurdity  in 
the  pieces  of  Salvo  and  Ocampo  a  few  years  after- 
ward. On  the  whole,  the  genius,  modified  by  the  for- 
tune of  Calderon,  has  been  truly  said  to  have  given 
the  drama  the  last  advance  of  which  it  was  capable, 
but  at  the  same  time  to  have  placed  it,  by  the  means 
taken  to  this  end,  on  a  summit  from  which  nothing 
but  descent  was  possible  in  any  direction."*  "  The 
poet  stands,"  as  Goethe  has  excellently  well  observed, 
"  on  the  threshold  of  over-culture." 

Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  it  is  sometimes  possible 
to  trace  in  his  works  the  influences  of  that  particular 
world  in  which  he  moved.  AVe  recognise  the  court- 
poet,  the  poet  of  the  Buen  Retiro ;  though  not  indeed 
to  such  an  extent  as  seriously  to  affect  his  popular, 
universal  character.  He  had  strength  enough  to  re- 
sist the  baneful  influences,  the  narrowing  tendencies, 
which  such  a  position,  and  the  necessity  of  often  pre- 
paring what  would  be  acceptable  to  his  royal  and 
courtly  hearers  there,  might  easily  have  exGrted  upon 
him ;  nor  does  he  desert  seriously,  nor  for  long,  the 
broad  popular  basis  on  which  alone  a  national  drama 

*  Athenaeum,  November  26,  1853. 

t  Der  Dicbter  steht  an  dor  Schwelle  dcr  Uebcronltur. 


62  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

can  repose.  Still  it  must  be  owned  tliat  he  moves  at 
times  in  an  artificial,  merely  conventional  world ; 
and  this  his  greatest  admirers  ought  not  to  refuse  to 
confess.* 

It  is  true  that  this  same  familiarity  with  courts, 
and  the  life  of  courts,  brought  a  certain  compensation 
with  it.  How  complete  the  self-possession  of  all  his 
characters  to  which  this  accomplishment  of  self-pos- 
session would  naturally  belong.  With  what  graceful 
ease,  with  what  high-bred  courtesy,  they  know  ever 
how  to  say  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time.  "What 
perfect  gentlemen  his  youthful  gallants  are  in  their 
friendships,  their  quarrels,  and  their  love-makings. 
Still  Calderon  was,  beyond  a  doubt,  exposed  to  a 
danger  on  this  side,  and  one  which  he  has  not  alto- 
gether escaped. 

The  injurious  consequences  of  this  position  which 
he  occupied,  are  also  manifested  in  the  occasional 
choice  by  him  of  subjects,  which  evidently  attracted 
him  not  on  account  of  their  inward  poetic  worth,  nor 
of  any  strong  sympathy  of  his  genius  with  them,  but 
only  or  chiefly  because  of  the  ample  room  and  oppor- 
tunity for  pompous  spectacle  and  show  which  they 
afforded.     In  search  of  these  the  poet  sometimes  a 

*  Goethe  (  Worke,  Paris,  1836,  b.  iii.  p.  316) :  "Eine  vollige  Gleich- 
stellung  mit  dem  spanischen  Theater  kann  ich  nirgends  billigen. 
Der  herrliche  Calderon  hat  so  viel  Conventionelles,  dass  einem  red- 
lichen  Beobachter  schwer  wird,  das  grosse  Talent  des  Dichters  durch 
die  Theateretiqucttc  durclizuerkennen." 


THE  GENIUS  OP   CALDERON.  68 

little  wanders  out  of  the  true  paths  of  a  severer  art, 
and  consents  to  minister  rather  to  the  sense  than  to 
the  spirit.  The  court  claimed  splendid  festal  pieces, 
giving  room  for  startling  effects,  unlooked-for  trans- 
formations, long-drawn  processions,  and  he  did  not 
refuse  to  produce  them.  Yet  I  fancy  that  he  some- 
times labored  here  with  no  willing  mind.  In  some 
of  these,  above  all  in  some  of  his  gorgeous  mytholo- 
gical pieces,  it  will  be  evident,  I  think,  to  a  close  ob- 
server, that  he  felt  his  bondage,  and  found  vent  for  a 
latent  displeasure  in  a  certain  irony  with  which  he 
treats  his  whole  argument.  The  assumption  of  this 
ironical  position  in  respect  of  his  theme,  is  at  other 
times  wholly  alien  from  him. 

In  these  pompous  shows  Calderon  had,  and  plainly 
felt  that  he  had,  the  resources  of  the  royal  purse  on 
which  he  might  freely  draw.  The  lengthened  stage- 
directions,  which  in  two  or  three  cases  accompany  his 
grand  spectacle-plays,  involve  the  most  complicated 
arrangements.  A  famous  Italian  machinist  especially 
presided  over  this  department ;  and  the  demands  which 
the  poet  made  upon  him  must  have  tasked  his  skill  to 
the  uttermost.  The  cost  of  adequately  producing  some 
of  these  scenic  splendors  must  have  been  enormous. 
But,  in  truth,  the  prodigal  expenditure  of  the  court 
of  Philip  lY.  upon  its  pride  and  its  pleasure  seems  to 
have  known  no  stint  and  no  limits.  One  might  sup- 
pose that  it  would  have  sometimes  been  a  little  re- 


64  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

strained  by  a  sense  of  shame.  But  no :  the  whole 
machine  of  state  might  be  in  danger  of  standing  still, 
or  breaking  up,  for  lack  of  the  most  needful  funds ; 
armies  in  the  Netherlands,  long  unpaid,  might  be  in 
actual  revolt,  threatening  to  turn,  or  indeed  turning, 
their  arms  against  their  employers ;  but  the  magnifi- 
cent and  ruinous  splendors  of  the  court  appear  never" 
to  have  known  diminution  or  abatement. 

Now-and-then,  too,  in  some  of  these  courtly  pieces, 
the  poet  glorifies  his  royal  patron  beyond  the  warrant 
of  the  truth.  Yet  here  it  will  be  only  just  to  remem- 
ber that  in  many  accomplishments  Philip  IV.  was  emi- 
nent. What  his  merits  as  a  poet  were  may  be  doubt- 
ful ;  but  he  certainly  wrote  his  own  language  purely 
and  well ;  he  possessed  considerable  skill  in  painting ; 
he  was  a  graceful  rider,  was  bold  and  fearless  in  the 
chase.  Thus  a  very  long  and  gorgeous  passage  occurs 
in  The  Scarf  and  the  Flower,  in  which,  after  a  mag- 
nificent description  of  the  horse,  the  poet  extols  the 
horsemanship,  of  the  king,  and  claims  for  him  the 
foremost  honors  as  the  best  and  boldest  rider  of  his 
time.  This  might  seem  a  piece  of  egregious  flattery ; 
but  when  Calderon,  anticipating  this  charge  of  adula- 
tion, puts  it  at  the  same  time  somewhat  proudly  from 
him,  on  the  ground  that  in  nothing  he  exceeded  the 
truth,*  he  is  quite  borne  out  in  this  by  contemporary 

*  "  Qae  como  este  afecto  sea 
Verdad  en  mi,  y  no  lisonja. 
No  importa  que  lo  parezca." 


THE  GENIUS   OF  CALDERON.  65 

authority.  To  appeal  to  the  many  equestrian  pictures 
of  Philip  by  Velasquez,  in  which  he  and  his  steed  so 
well  become  one  another,  might  not  indeed  of  itself 
be  sufficient,  for  the  pencil  of  the  painter  might  have 
flattered  as  well  as  the  pen  of  the  poet ;  but  "  we  have 
it  on  the  authority  of  the  great  master  of  equitation, 
the  duke  of  Newcastle,  that  he  was  absolutely  the 
best  horseman  in  all  Spain  ;"*  while  his  skill  and  dar- 
ing in  the  chase  are  in  like  measure  raised  above  all 
doubt. 

Calderon  is,  and  probably  will  remain,  the  last 
great  poet  of  Romanism.  Saying  this,  I  would  not 
imply  that  there  have  not  been  since  his  time  poets 
of  considerable  mark,  who  have  been  serious  and  ear- 
nest in  their  allegiance  to  the  church  of  Rome  ;  Fili- 
jaca  and  Manzoni  would  refute  me,  if  I  made  any 
assertion  of  the  kind ;  nor  yet  that  there  may  not  be 
such  again ;  but  he  is,  I  am  persuaded,  the  last  great 
poet  who  will  have  found  in  the  Roman  catholic  as  dis- 
tinguished from,  and,  alas !  sometimes  as  contrasted 
with,  the  universally  Cliristian,  any  portion  of  the  mo- 
tive powers  of  his  poetry ;  who  will  so  firmly  believe  iu 
and  live  by  this,  that  he  shall  be  able  in  return  to 
shed  around  it  the  glories  of  his  own  art.  There  will 
be  abundance  of  ostentatiously  Romanist  art,  poetical 

*  Stirling,  Velasquez  and  his  Works,  p.  85,  who  refers  to  the  treatise 
of  the  duke,  A  New  Method  to  dress  Horses,  &c.,  p.  8. 


66  THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON. 

and  other.  There  will  be  many  a  scornful  challenge : 
"  See  what  we  can  believe — how  much  more  than 
you,  poor,  unbelieving  protestants !  what  sources  of 
inspiration  are  open  to  us,  which  are  for  ever  closed  to 
you !"  But  that  which  the  challengers  produce  will 
not  for  a  moment  impose  on  the  discerning ;  and  the 
artist,  at  bottom  as  incredulous  in  respect  of  his  legend 
or  his  miracle  as  those  whom  he  affects  to  despise,  will 
be  rewarded  with  hearers  or  spectators  as  incredulous 
as  himself.  But  while  I  say  this  of  Calderon,  it  must 
not  be  understood  as  implying  that  his  inspirations 
were  predominantly  Romanist  as  distinguished  from 
Christian.  Whatever  is  universally  Christian  in  him 
or  in  any  other  is  for  all  time ;  and  this,  I  am  per- 
suaded, despite  of  all  that  Southey,  Sismondi,  and 
others,  have  affirmed  to  the  contrary,  so  far  in  him 
exceeds  the  distinctively  Romanist,  that  he  will  hold 
his  ground  and  maintain  his  place  in  the  august  synod 
of  the  great  "  heirs  of  memory,"  whose  reputation  is 
for  all  time  :  nay,  at  each  reconsideration  of  his  claims 
he  is  likely  on  the  whole  to  take  a  higher  and  not  a 
lower  place  than  that  which  he  occupied  before.  K, 
on  some  points,  the  orb  of  his  fame  must  decrease,  it 
will  increase  on  others. 

On  some,  it  is  true,  it  must  decrease :  he  already 
suffers,  and,  as  the  great  stream  of  faith  and  passion 
recedes  farther  from  Rome,  will  suffer  still  more,  from 
having  committed  himself  so  far  to  that  which  will 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  67 

every  day  be  more  plainly  overlived ;  and  will  by 
more  be  abandoned.  There  will  thus  be  the  need, 
in  reading  him,  of  large  abatements  and  allowances. 
There  will  be  that  in  him  wherein  an  ever  larger  num- 
ber of  readers  will  sympathize  coldly ;  there  will  be 
that  wherein  they  will  sympathize  not  at  all ;  there 
will  be  that  against  which  their  whole  moral  soul  and 
being  will  protest  and  revolt.  Thus  to  say  a  word  on 
this  last  point.  What  were  that  "  Pecca  fortiter^'' 
even  supposing  it  meant,  which  it  does  not  in  the 
least,  "  &in  stroTigly,  that  so  grace  may  abound"  — 
what  were  that,  as  compared  with  Calderon's  theology 
in  his  Devotion  of  the  Cross — despite  of  all  its  per- 
versity a  wonderful  and  terrible  drama,  but  the  very 
sublime  of  antinomianism  ?*  Its  hero  Eusebio,  after 
various  disorders,  takes  to  the  mountains,  becomes  in 
the  end  a  robber,  a  murderer,  and  a  ravisher.  He 
has  never,  however,  amid  all  his  crimes,  renounced  his 
devotion  to  the  cross,  nor  yet  his  confidence  that  on 
the  ground  of  this  he  shall  be  ultimately  saved,  as  ac- 
cordingly in  the  end  he  is.f 

*  With  this  Tirso  de  Molina's  El  Condenado  por  Desconfiado  de- 
serves to  be  compared.  There  is  an  interesting  analysis  of  this  very 
remarkable  play  in  Schack's  Gesch,  d.  Dramat.  LitercUur  in  Spanien, 
book  ii.,  pp.  602-606. 

t  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Eusebios  belong  merely  to  the  re- 
gion of  imagination.  Fowell  Buxton  (see  his  Memoirs,  1848,  p.  488) 
visited,  in  the  prisons  of  Civita  Vecchia,  a  famous  ItaUan  bandit,  Gras- 
paroni,  who,  having  committed  two  hundred  murders,  had  never  yet 
committed  one  upon  a  Friday. 


68  THE   GENIUS   OP   CALDERON. 

A  thoughtful  man  must,  I  think,  be  often  deeply 
struck  with  the  immeasurable  advantage  for  being  the 
great  poet  of  all  humanity,  of  all  ages  and  all  people, 
which  Shakespeare  possessed  in  being  a  protestant. 
At  the  first  blush  of  the  matter  there  is  a  temptation 
to  conclude  otherwise ;  to  think  of  him  as  at  a  disad- 
vantage, shut  out,  as  he  thus  was,  from  the  rich  my- 
thology, the  gorgeous  symbolism,  the  manifold  legend, 
and  from  many  other  sources  of  interest,  which  a  poet 
of  the  Roman  catholic  church  would  command.  But 
whatever  losses  might  thereby  be  his,  whatever  springs 
and  sources  of  poetry  might  be  closed  to  him  on  this 
account,  all  this  was  countervailed  by  far  greater 
gains.  And  if  the  loftiest  poetry  is  not  merely  pas- 
sion and  imagination,  but  these  moving  in  the  sphere 
of  highest  truth,  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise. 
And  these  gains  will  every  day  be  more  evident.  For 
thus  nothing  in  him  through  the  course  of  time  be- 
comes incredible,  nothing  is  overlived.  The  tide  of 
human  faith  and  passion,  which  upbears  so  proudly 
the  rich  argosies  that  he  has  launched  upon  it,  will 
never  ebb,  and  leave  them  helplessly  stranded  on  an 
abandoned  shore,  but  will  rather  mount  higher  and 
higher  still.  Assuredly  it  is  a  weakness  in  Schiller, 
and  one  fitly  rebuked  in  one  of  Mrs.  Browning's  no- 
blest poems,  that  he  should  wail  over  the  vanished 
"  Gods  of  Hellas  ;"  as  though  the  extinction  of  faith 
in  them  had  closed  any  springs  of  inspiration  for  the 


THE  GENIUS  OF   CALDEKON.  69 

world,  or  left  it  poorer  in  the  materials  of  poetry  than 
before.  To  regard  the  matter  only  from  a  poet's 
point  of  view,  what  can  be  so  poetical  as  highest  truth 
and  reason  ?  If  poetry  be  anything  but  a  brain-sick 
dream,  to  bewail  the  vanishing  of  aught  which,  even 
while  we  bewail,  we  know  to  have  been  wholly  or 
partially  untrue,  is  contradictory  and  idle.  Are  we 
not  bound  by  every  obligation  to  believe  that,  however 
appearances  may  seem  otherwise,  however  severe,  or 
stern,  or  even  homely,  it  may  show  for  a  while,  the 
truest  will  yet  in  the  end  prove  the  most  beautiful, 
and  therefore  the  most  poetical,  of  all  ? 

A  comparison  has  been  sometimes  instituted  be- 
tween Calderon  and  Shakespeare,  by  friends  of  Cal- 
deron  and  by  enemies — the  friends  as  injudicious  as 
the  enemies  unjust.  Why  can  not  he  be  taken  for 
himself?  Why  thrust  him  into  a  comparison  and 
competition  from  which  he  and  every  man  must  suf- 
fer ?  Why  can  not  a  rich,  ornamental  garden  be  beau- 
tiful, because  a  magnificent  landscape  is  more  beauti- 
ful still  ?  With  what  reason  can  be  demanded  from 
him  that  which  the  clear,  unclouded  South,  which  a 
Romance  language,  which  the  Roman  catholic  religion, 
can  never  give  ?  Nationality,  language,  faith,  made 
him  very  different ;  and  the  same  causes  which  have 
made  the  North  of  Europe  the  seat  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, the  seat  also  of  all  the  stronger  thinking  as  well 
as  the  more  earnest  doing  of  modern  Europe,  have 


70  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

contributed  to  make  our  English  poet  far  greater  than 
the  Spanish — our  greatest  far  greater  than  theirs. 
But  set  him  beside  any  other  of  our  Elizabethan  dra- 
matists, and  although  his  merits  and  theirs  are  so  dis- 
parate as  scarcely  to  allow  of  comparison,  yet,  if  such 
were  made,  he  certainly  would  not  suffer  by  it. 

In  one  thing  I  can  not  help  noting  the  immense  su- 
periority of  Calderon,  not  merely  over  them,  but  the 
advantage  which  he  has  even  over  Shakespeare  him- 
self, who  is  an  offender,  though  a  very  slight  one  com- 
pared with  his  contemporaries,  in  the  point  to  which 
1  allude.  It  is  the  entire  absence  of  grossness,  of 
indecency,  of  double  entendre,  from  his  plays.  The 
morality  which  he  inculcates  may  sometimes  be  ques- 
tionable and  more  than  questionable,  but  in  this  mat- 
ter he  is  nearly  or  quite  without  reproach.  The  wit 
of  his  valets  and  waiting-women  is  sometimes  forced 
and  insipid  enough,  but  he  never  seeks  to  spice  it  with 
indecency.*  Speeches  which,  considering  who  they 
are  that  utter  them,  what  lovely  and  pure-minded 
women,  surprise  us  once  or  twice  in  Shakespeare  al- 
most as  much  as  the  red  mouse  leaping  out  of  the  fair 
girl's  mouth  surprised  Faust,  nowhere  occur  in  him. 
It  is  honorable  to  a  Spanish  audience  that  they  did 
not  demand  this  unworthy  condiment,  as  is  sufficiently 
attested  by  Calderon's  immense  popularity ;  that  they 

*  See  some  excellent  remarks  on  this  subject  in  an  able  article  on 
Calderon  in  Blaclcvoood's  Magazine,  December,  1839,  p.  729. 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  71 

could  bear  it,  the  comedies  of  Tirso  de  Molina  abun- 
dantly prove. 

It  is  only  in  consistency  "with  the  profounder  thought- 
fulness,  the  more  introverted  eye  of  the  great  English 
dramatist,  that  in  him  the  action  is  subservient  to  the 
character,  while  in  Calderon  the  character  is  subser- 
vient to  the  action.  In  Shakespeare  you  are  more 
concerned  with  what  his  people  are,  in  Calderon  with 
what  they  do.  Of  course,  this  is  not  to  be  pushed  on 
either  side  too  far :  Shakespeare  often  interests  with 
his  plots ;  to  Calderon  was  by  no  means  denied  the 
power  of  drawing  characters.  Of  the  drama  of  Shake- 
speare it  has  been  said :  "  The  soul  of  man  is  the  sub- 
ject of  its  delineation;  the  action  and  the  circum- 
stances of  the  piece  are  entirely  subordinate  and  sub- 
servient to  the  displaying  of  the  passions  and  affections 
of  the  persons  represented.  The  interest  of  the  piece, 
though  sometimes  most  skilfully  maintained,  is  never- 
theless a  secondary  object."  When  the  same  writer* 
goes  on  to  say — "  In  the  Spanish  theatre  it  is  exactly 
the  reverse  ;  the  interest  is  everything,  the  characters 
comparatively  are  nothing" — this,  having  its  truth,  is 
yet  too  strongly  put. 

In  Shakespeare,  again,  where  everything  is  wonder- 
ful, there  is  yet  perhaps  nothing  more  wonderful  than 
the  way  in  which  characters  grow  before  our  eyes,  as 
the  action  of  the  drama  proceeds.     It  is  not  merely 

*  Quarterly  Beview,  vol.  xxv.,  p.  3,  The  Spanish  Drama. 


72  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

that  he  gradually  shows  us  more  fully  and  from  more 
various  points  of  view  what  they  are  ;  but  with  the  ad- 
vance of  the  action  his  persons  are  different  from  what 
they  were  when  it  commenced ;  they  are  in  process  of 
becoming".  As  in  actual  life  no  character  stands  still, 
but  all  are  changing,  are  either  growing  worse  or  bet- 
ter, so  is  it  in  the  mimic  life  of  his  stage.  You  note, 
for  instance,  in  his  plays  which  have  to  do  with  our 
civil  wars,  the  English  barons  growing  worse  and 
worse,  more  unscrupulous,  more  cruel,  more  treacher- 
ous, more  vindictive  at  every  step  ;  the  poet  thus  un- 
obtrusively showing  the  hideous  moral  effects  of  such 
wars  upon  those  who  are  engaged  in  them.  Or,  again, 
you  see  in  Margaret  of  Anjou  the  forward  flirt  passing 
into  the  unfaithful  wife,  and  the  unfaithful  wife  into 
the  cursing  hag.  Calderon  is  not  wholly  without  this, 
but  there  is  comparatively  little  of  it  in  him.  Goethe 
has  observed  this :  in  Calderon,  he  says,  you  have  the 
hands  of  the  clock  as  they  are  seen  upon  the  dial- 
plate,  but  in  Shakespeare  all  the  inner  works  as  well. 
Or  more  exactly  to  this  point  he  has  observed,  in  a 
piece  of  criticism  on  the  Spanish  poet,  which,  brief  as 
it  is,  is  the  profoundest  and  most  satisfying  that  has 
yet  been  written :  "  In  Calderon  you  have  the  wine  as 
the  last  artificial  result  of  the  grape,  but  expressed 
into  the  goblet,  highly  spiced  and  sweetened,  and  so 
given  you  to  drink  ;  but  in  Shakespeare  you  have  the 
whole  natural  process  of  its  ripening  besides,  and  the 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  73 

grapes  themselves  one  by  one  for  your  enjoyment  if 
you  will."* 

I  must  not  leave  the  points  of  contact  or  opposition 
between  Shakespeare's  drama  and  Calderon's  without 
a  word  or  two  on  the  names  which  they  severally  have 
given  to  their  plays.  It  is  not  a  great  matter,  nor  yet 
altogether  a  small  one,  by  what  names  a  poet  desig- 
nates his  productions ;  and  it  can  not  be  but  that  many 
must  have  admired  the  poetical,  the  witty,  the  prover- 
bial, the  alliterative,  the  antithetic  character  of  the 
titles  of  so  many  among  Shakespeare's  plays,  no  less 
than  the  music  with  which  they  often  haunt  the  ear : 
thus,  A  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream — AWs  Well  that 
ends  Well —  Love's  Labor's  Lost — Measure  for  Meas- 
ure— the  name  itself  being  no  unworthy  herald  of  that 
which  is  to  follow,  and  oftentimes  summing  it  all  up ; 
and,  though  not  revealing  beforehand,  yet  afterward 
clearly  declaring  the  intentions  of  the  poet.  Calde- 
ron  also  is  singularly  felicitous  in  his  titles,  and  in 
them,  I  think,  often  reminds  one  of  Shakespeare :  they 
almost  always  possess  a  point ;  in  their  narrow  com- 

*  "  Shakspeare  reicht  uns  die  voile  reife  Traube  vora  Stock,  wir 
mogen  sie  nun  beliebig  Beere  fiir  Beere  geniessen,  sie  auspressen, 
keltem,  als  Most,  als  gegohmen  Wein  kosten  odor  schliirfen,  auf  jede 
Weise  sind  wir  erquickt.  Bei  Calderon  dagegen  ist  dem  Zuschauer, 
dessen  Wahl  und  WoUen  nichts  iiberlassen ;  wir  empfangen  abgezo- 
genen,  hochst  rectificirten  Weingeist,  mit  manchen  Spezereien  ge- 
scharft,  mit  Sussigkeiten  gemildert;  wir  miissen  den  Trank  einneh- 
men,  wie  er  ist,  als  schmaekhaftes  kostliches  Reizmittel,  oder  ihn 
abweisen."  Goethe  is  here  reviewing  a  Gernlan  translation  of  The 
Daughter  of  the  Air.     ( Werke,  Paris,  1836,  b.  v.,  p.  61.) 

4 


74  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDEBON. 

pass,  poetry,  aud  wit,  and  proverb,  and  antithesis,  all 
by  turns  find  room.  They  attract  the  reader,  and 
rouse  his  curiosity,*  containing  oftentimes  the  true  key 
to  the  poet's  meaning.  Let  me  adduce  the  following 
in  proof:  Lifers  a  Dream — The  Two  Lovers  of 
Heaven —  The  Fairy  Lady —  The  Loud  Secret — 
Weep,  Woman,  and  conquer — Beware  of  Still  War 
ters —  White  Hands  can  not  hurt —  The  Worst  is  not 
always  True — Loved  and  Hated — Tlie  Jailer  of 
Himself — Every  One  for  Himself — and  it  is  the 
same  with  a  vast  number  of  others.f 

*  On  the  titles  of  Calderon's  plays,  as  well  as  on  other  matters  con- 
nected with  the  subject,  there  are  some  good  observations  in  a  little 
essay  by  Heiberg,  De  Poeseos  dramaticce  genere  Hispanico,  prcesertim  de 
Calderone  Dissert.  Inauguralis,  Hafniie,  1817,  p.  16. 

t  Let  me  adduce  one  other  isolated  point  of  contact  in  a  note.  The 
shrewd,  sensible,  worldly,  and  yet  from  time  to  time  better  than  world- 
ly, wisdom  which  Polonius  bestows  on  his  son,  now  going  out  into 
life,  is  familiar  to  all.  I  do  not  adduce  what  follows,  spoken  on  ex- 
actly a  like  occasion,  as  its  match ;  yet  none,  I  think,  can  read  this 
without  being  reminded  of  that,  nor  without  acknowledging  that  this 
too  was  well  and  worthily  said.  It  is  the  peasant-magistrate,  the 
Mayor  of  Zalamea,  in  Caldei-on's  play  of  the  same  name  (see  p.  41), 
who  speaks ;  I  avail  myself  of  Mr.  Fitzgerald's  version  :  "  By  God's 
grace,  boy,  thou  com'st  of  honorable  if  of  humble  stock ;  bear  both  in 
mind,  so  as  neither  to  be  daunted  from  trying  to  rise,  nor  puffed  up 
so  as  to  be  sure  to  fall.  Mow  many  have  done  away  the  memory  of 
a  defect  by  carrying  themselves  modestly ;  while  others,  again,  have 
gotten  a  blemish  only  by  being  too  proud  of  being  boi-n  without  one ! 
There  is  a  just  humility  that  will  maintain  thine  own  dignity,  and  yet 
make  thee  insensible  to  many  a  rub  that  galls  the  proud  spirit.  Be 
courteous  in  thy  manner,  and  liberal  of  thy  purse ;  for  'tis  the  hand 
to  the  bonnet  and  in  the  pocket  that  make  friends  in  this  world ;  of 
which  to  gain  one  good,  all  the  gold  the  sun  breeds  in  India,  or  the 
universal  sea  sucks  down,  were  a  cheap  purchase.     Speak  no  evil  of 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON.  76 

women  ;  I  tell  thee  the  meanest  of  them  deserves  our  respect ;  for  of 
women  do  not  we  all  come  1  Quarrel  with  no  one  but  with  good 
cause ;  by  the  Lord,  over  and  over  again,  when  I  see  masters  and 
schools  of  arms  among  us,  I  say  to  myself :  '  This  is  not  the  thing  we 
want  at  all.  How  to  fight,  but  Why  to  fight  —  that  is  the  lesson  we 
want  to  learn.  And  I  verily  believe  if  but  one  master  of  the  Why  to 
fight  advertised  among  us,  he  would  carry  off  all  the  scholars.' " 


76  THE  GENIUS   OF  CALDERON. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    GENIUS    OF    CALDERON. 

(his   AUTOS.) 

I  HAVE  spoken  more  than  once  of  the  admiration  of 
Augustus  Schlegel  for  Calderon.  While  he  extends 
this  admiration  to  all  his  works,  he  has  reserved  his 
most  enthusiastic  praise,  the  loftiest  flights  of  his  most 
passionate  eloquence,  for  the  setting  out  of  the  glories 
of  his  autos.  In  these  he  sees,  and  perhaps  justly,  the 
most  signal  evidences  of  the  poet's  genius,  his  truest 
title-deeds  to  immortality.*  The  passage,  which  oc- 
curs in  the  Dramatic  Lectures,  has  been  often  and 
justly  admired ;  although  it  must  be  confessed  that, 
despite  of  all  the  pomp  and  magnificence  of  words 

*  Martin  Panzano,  an  Aragonese  priest  settled  in  Italy,  who  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century  wrote  a  brief  work  in  defence  of  Spanish 
literature,  which  he  thought  unduly  depreciated  abroad,  has  expressed 
himself  in  the  same  language.  Speaking  of  Calderon,  he  says  (De 
Hispanorum  Literaturd,  Turin,  1758,  p.  75)  :  "  Certe  inter  primi  sub- 
sellii  poetas  clarissimum  hunc  virum  adnumerandum,  nemo  unus  qui 
ejus  libros  legerit  inficiabitur ;  praesertim  si  acta  quse  vulgo  sacra- 
mentalia  vocantur  diligenter  examinet ;  in  quibus  neque  in  inveniendo 
acumen,  nee  in  disponendo  ratio,  neque  in  ornando  aut  venustas,  ant 
nitor,  aut  majestas  desiderabitur." 


THE   GENIUS   OP  CALDERON.  77 

which  he  casts  over  his  theme,  the  reader  not  other- 
wise instructed  rises  up  having  learned  exceedingly 
little  of  what  these  are,  or  what  in  them  deserves  the 
praise  which  sounds  to  him  so  extravagant. 

Auto^  or  Act,  was  a  name  given  at  the  first  to  al- 
most any  kind  of  dramatic  composition,  but  in  the 
flourishing  period  of  the  Spanish  drama  was  restricted 
to  religious  compositions ;  nor  would  it  be  given  to 
all  of  these,  but  only  to  representations  in  which  alle- 
gorical persons  found  place,  and  which  were  acted  at 
certain  chief  festivals  of  the  church.  Like  each  other 
form  of  drama  which  Calderon  made  his  own,  it  was 
already,  when  he  arose,  a  national  production,  and 
one  deeply  rooted  in  the  affections  of  the  nation,  as  a 
Christian  and  still  more  as  a  Roman  catholic  people. 
He  only  carried  to  its  highest  perfection,  and  gave  its 
crowning  development  to,  a  form  of  composition  which 
had  existed,  though  certainly  in  shapes  very  different 
from  those  which  it  assumed  under  his  hands,  almost 
as  long  as  modern  Spain  had  any  literature  whatever. 
For,  with  all  its  complex  construction,  it  is  yet  legiti- 
mately descended  from  the  rude  medieval  mysteries ; 
sacred  shows,  in  which,  on  certain  chief  festivals  of 
the  church,  it  was  sought  to  teach  the  people  through 
their  eyes  as  well  as  through  their  ears  the  leading 
facts  of  Scripture  history — above  all,  of  the  life  of 
Christ  and  of  his  saints.  "  Miracle-plays"  these  were 
commonly  called  with  us,  and  sometimes  "  mysteries" 


78  THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON. 

— a  name  borrowed  from  the  French,  and  in  modern 
times  generally  supposed,  but  erroneously,*  to  have 
been  given  to  them  because  they  set  forth  the  great 
mysteries  of  the  faith. 

We  have,  indeed,  in  these  rude  religious  entertain- 
ments the  germs  of  the  modern  drama ;  for,  strange 
as  it  may  sound  to  some,  it  is  yet  certain  that  the 
whole  modern  drama,  not  in  Spain  only,  but  through- 
out all  Europe,  grew  up  under  the  wing  of  the  church, 
and  only  gradually  detached  itself  from  it.f  Like  the 
Greek  drama,  it  was  religious,  and  part  of  a  religious 
service,  at  its  commencement.  The  process  of  this 
its  detachment  is  not  very  difficult  to  trace.  At  the 
first  the  church  had  availed  herself  gladly  of  that  love 
of  dramatic  representation  which  is  so  marked  a  char- 
acteristic of  all  nations  at  certain  epochs  of  their  in- 
tellectual and  social  development ;  until,  that  is,  it  is 
killed,  or  rather  its  place  supplied,  by  the  abundance 
of  books,  and  the  widely-diffused  power  of  reading. 
With  rude  and  ignorant  populations,  needing  to  be 
instructed  in  the  great  facts  of  sacred  history,  inac- 
cessible through  books — craving  excitements  in  the 
place  of  those  with  which  their  heathen  religions  once 
supplied  them — needing  to  be  weaned,  if  possible, 
from  profane  feasts,  and  songs,  and  dances,  by  better 

*  See  p.  79. 

t  On  this  matter  see  Alt,  Theater  und  Kirche  in  ihrem  gegenseitigen 
VerhaUniss  historisch  dargestdlt,  8vo,  Berlin,  1846. 


THE   GENIUS   OP   CALDERON.  79 

entertainments — she  did  not  disdain  to  avail  herself 
of  the  help  which  in  this  quarter  she  found.  The 
thing  grew  up,  indeed,  almost  before  she  was  aware, 
out  of  the  desire  vividly  to  set  forth  the  great  truths 
by  which  she  was  animated,  the  great  facts  of  which 
she  was  the  bearer.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  in 
the  responses  and  antiphonies  of  her  service,  in  the 
processions  within  the  church  and  outside  of  it,  in  the 
change  of  persons  and  dresses  during  the  service,  in 
the  alternation  of  the  recitative  (dicer e),  and  the  choir, 
(cantare),  in  the  scenic  imitations  of  the  cradle  and 
all  its  accompaniments  at  Bethlehem — in  this  and 
much  else  of  the  same  kind,  there  lay  already  the 
germs  of  the  drama. 

It  is  no  place  here  to  follow  out  the  steps  by  which 
these  germs  were  gradually  unfolded,  nor  yet  to  trace 
the  further  steps  by  which,  as  was  inevitable,  various 
scandals  and  offences  arose,  which  might  well  create 
a  misgiving  in  respect  of  the  prudence  of  allowing 
this  to  proceed  any  further.  These  sacred  represen- 
tations, begun  in  good  faith  and  in  simplicity,  and  as 
veritable  Biblia  Pauperum  for  a  rude  and  ignorant 
people,  after  a  while  degenerated  more  and  more  into 
mere  shows  and  spectacles,  no  helpers  but  hinderers 
to  devotion  ;  they  were  attended  with  a  thousand  in- 
conveniences and  unseemlinesses,  as  in  the  fact  that 
the  priests  were  at  once  the  authors  and  actors,*  the 

*  Though  the  word  mystery  is  spelled  as  though  it  were  connected 
with  mysterium  and  nvaT/ipiov,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  derived 


80  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

places  of  representation  churches  and  cathedrals; 
and  nowhere  were  they  more  fruitful  of  scandals  than 
in  Spain.  Those  who  flocked  to  witness  these  spec- 
tacles after  a  while  craved  coarser  excitements,  and 
there  were  found  some  who  were  willing  to  provide 
for  them  these.  Scurrile  jests,  profane  songs,  low 
buflboneries,  forced  their  way  into  these  compositions, 
and  were  often  mixed  up  in  the  strangest  manner 
with  the  very  most  sacred  things  of  all.  Thus  in  the 
evangelical  history  itself,  the  merchant  who  sold  the 
spices  to  the  holy  women,  the  gardener  for  whom  our 
blessed  Lord  was  mistaken  by  the  Magdelene,  the 
host  of  the  inn  at  Emmaus,  all  became  fixed  comic 
characters,  and  made  untimely  merriment  for  the 
spectators. 

Many  church  rulers,  among  these  Innocent  III.  de- 
serves honorable  mention,  were  very  much  in  earnest 
that  these  scandals  should  cease.  Council  after  coun- 
cil took  the  matter  in  hand ;  some  absolutely  prohib- 
iting these  spectacles ;  others  giving  to  them  a  limited 

the  word  from  the  French,  and  that  in  the  Trench  it  is  more  accurate- 
ly spelled  mistere  than  mysthe,  being  derived  from  ministerium,  and 
having  its  name  because  the  ministri  Ecclesia;  conducted  it.  When 
at  a  later  period  these  representations  were  employed,  not  merely  for 
setting  out  the  facts  of  the  sacred  history,  but  by  aid  of  allegorical 
personages  the  mysteries  of  Christian  theology,  notliing  lay  nearer 
than  to  make  the  name  significant  of  the  intention,  and  to  suppose 
that  it  was  meant  to  be  so.  It  is  the  same  process  of  modifying  the 
spelling,  or  even  the  shape,  of  a  word  under  a  wrongly-assumed 
etymology,  which  has  occun'ed  innumerable  times,  and  is  one  of  the 
most  potent  forces  in  the  transformation  of  words. 


THE   GENIUS   OP   CALDERON.  81 

toleration,  and  attempting  to  define  exactly  what 
kind  of  representations  should  be  allowed  within  the 
sacred  walls,  and  what  forbidden.  These  limitations 
were  eluded ;  things  invariably  returned  presently  to 
their  old  course ;  and  thus  toward  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  in  1565,  it  was  in  Spain  found  ne- 
cessary definitively  to  prohibit  clerks  taking  any 
share  in  these  religious  plays,  or  allowing  them  to  go 
forward  within  the  sacred  precincts.  A  way  was 
found,  however,  by  which  the  people  should  not  be 
absolutely  deprived  of  what  they  so  eagerly  craved. 
A  compromise  was  effected.  The  mysteries  should 
still  continue,  but  not  any  more  conducted  by  the 
officers  of  the  church,  nor  within  the  sacred  walls, 
nor  as  a  part  of  divine  service  ;  while  yet  at  the  same 
time  the  church  did  not  disown  them  altogether,  nor 
quite  cut  off  their  connection  with  herself.  These  plays 
still  maintained  their  relation  to  certain  great  festi- 
vals ;  they  were  still  performed  at  the  bidding,  and 
with  the  sanction  of  the  ecclesiastical  authorities ; 
these  also  defraying  their  cost.  Of  the  secular  drama 
I  am  not  speaking  now — that  went  its  own  way ;  in- 
dependent of  the  church ;  sometimes  in  opposition  to, 
and  opposed  by  it ;  as  in  Spain,  where  more  than 
once  all  dramatic  representations  except  directly  re- 
ligious were  suspended  for  a  considerable  period — 
but  of  the  religious,  which  thus  was  still  related,* 

♦  A  curious  result  and  evidence  of  this  was  that  the  autos,  though 
acted  in  the  broad  davlight,  and  indeed  in  the  open  air,  were  alwava 

4* 


82  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

though  the  bands  which  bound  it  were  somewhat 
relaxed,  to  the  church. 

Lope  de  Vega  took  possession  of  this,  as  he  did 
of  every  other  form  of  national  poetry,  cultivating 
and  carrying  it  far  higher  than  he  found  it.  He  did 
much  for  it,  but  he  left  much  also  for  his  successors, 
Calderon  above  all,  to  do.  The  auto,  as  managed  by 
him,  fell  very  short  in  completeness,  in  depth  and  in 
beauty,  of  that  which  in  Calderon's  hands  it  after- 
ward became.  This  last  found  in  the  distinctly  re- 
ligious drama  that  which  met  all  the  requirements  of 
his  soul.  His  two  vocations  of  dramatist  and  priest 
were  here  at  length  reconciled  in  highest  and  most 
harmonious  atonement,  and  from  the  finished  excel- 
lence of  these  works  in  all  their  details  he  appears 
to  have  dedicated  to  them  his  utmost  care,  to  have 
elaborated  them  with  the  diligence  of  a  peculiar  love. 
•It  ought  to  be  mentioned  that  long  before  his  time, 
the  mystery  or  miracle  play  had  in  part  given  way 
to,  had  in  part  been  blended  with,  the  "  morality  ;" 
which  arose  later,  which  had  unfolded  itself  out  of 
the  mystery ;  but  which  differed  from  it  in  this  re- 
accompanied  in  the  representation  by  an  innumerable  quantity  of  wax 
tapers.  Thus  in  the  inimitable  Travels  into  Spain,  by  the  Countess 
D'Aulnoy,  which  are  for  Spain  in  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  what  Ford  and  Barrow  are  for  Spain  in  the  nineteenth ;  de- 
scribing her  attendance  at  one  of  these,  she  says  : — "It  was  an  odd 
sight  to  see  a  prodigious  number  of  flamboys  lighted,  while  the  sun- 
beams were  ready  to  scorch  you  to  death,  and  melted  the  very  wax 
of  which  thev  were  made." 


TUE   GENIUS   OF   CALDEEON.  83 

spect,  that  while  the  other  had  always  to  do  with 
actual  persons  of  sacred  or  legendary  history,  in  the 
morality  allegorical  persons,  virtues,  vices,  and  the 
like,  appear  on  the  scene,  sometimes  mingling  with 
actual  historic  persons,  in  which  case  the  composition 
shares  in  the  nature  of  both,  sometimes  to  the  entire 
exclusion  of  such,  in  which  case  we  have  a  morality 
pure  and  unmixed. 

As  a  matter  of  art  the  morality  was  a  considerable 
advance  on  the  miracle  play.  In  the  latter  the  poet, 
if  we  may  so  call  him,  was  entirely  subjected  to  his 
story,  which  he  set  out  exactly  as  he  found  it,  in  suc- 
cessive scenes,  having  little  or  no  connection  with 
one  another ;  but  in  the  morality  there  was  no  such 
scheme  made  ready  to  his  hand ;  or  rather  no  such 
power  of  doing  without  any  scheme.  He  must  invent, 
he  must  combine,  he  must  reflect.  Without  this,  it 
would  be  quite  impossible  for  him  to  bring  aught  to 
the  birth,  which  would  satisfy  even  the  very  moderate 
claims  which  the  hearers  and  spectators  of  the  fifteenth 
century  made  upon  the  author. 

In  Calderon's  autos  the  morality  very  much  pre- 
ponderates above  the  miracle  play.  In  fact,  none  of 
them  are  properly  this  last.  If  we  look  among  his 
compositions  for  the  lineal  descendants,  though  in 
high  artistic  forms,  of  this,  we  must  find  them  in  such 
comedias  as  The  Purgatory  of  St.  Patrick,  or 
The  Wonder-working-  Magician,  mentioned  already. 


84  THE   GENIUS    OF    CALDERON. 

There  are  on  the  other  hand  many  which  are  pure 
moralities,  while  perhaps  in  more  allegorical  and  his- 
torical personages  are  mingled,  though  this  mixture 
is  not  so  repugnant  to  true  taste,  nor  yet  so  unman- 
ageable, as  might  at  first  appear — seeing  that  even 
the  historic  personages  are  for  the  most  part  typical 
or  symbolic,  as  Moses  for  instance  of  the  law,  Adam 
of  human  nature,  and  thus  with  the  rest. 

Enough  has  been  already  said  to  make  the  reader 
understand  that  there  can  be  nothing  easier  than  to 
give  a  description  of  the  Spanish  autos,  of  Calderon's 
above  all,  which  shall  present  them  as  merely  and 
supremely  ridiculous  to  as  many  as,  except  from  the 
accounts  thus  rendered,  are  entirely  unacquainted 
with  them  ;  and  who  consequently  are  wholly  at  the 
beck  and  mercy  of  the  scorner.  Thus  the  Countess 
D'Aulnoy  describes  the  autos  as  "  certain  poor  trage- 
dies acted  upon  religious  subjects ;"  pronounces  one 
which  she  witnessed  "  the  most  impertinent  piece  I 
ever  saw  of  this  kind  in  all  my  life  ;"  giving  an  out- 
line of  it,  which,  if  we  knew  no  more,  would  abun- 
dantly justify  her  judgment.  She  does  not  mention 
its  name  or  author,  but  from  her  account  it  may  per- 
haps have  been  The  Military  Orders  of  Calderon. 
Southey  also  in  his  Omniana  and  elsewhere*  has  not 

*  Commonplace  Book,  Second  series,  p.  2S3.  Compare  an  almost 
incredible  account  of  an  aitto  which  he  witnessed,  given  by  the  Rev. 
Edward  Clarke,  in  Letters  concerning  the  Spanish  Nation,  icritten  at 
Madrid  during  the  years  17G0  and  1761,  pp.  103-105.     London,  17G3. 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDEEOxV.  85 

resisted  the  temptation  of  setting,  which,  as  I  have 
said  is  so  easy,  in  a  ridiculous  light.  He  should  not 
have  given  way  to  the  temptation.  Critics  like  Sis- 
mondi,  who  undertake  to  judge  of  poetry  with  all 
insight  into  anything  deeper  than  its  merest  forms 
denied  them,  may  give  utterance  to  such  judgments 
about  the  autos,  as  that  which  Sismondi  has  most 
naturally  expressed ;  and  if  he  had  studied  the  whole 
seventy-two,  instead  of  the  single  one  which  with  a 
certain  candor  he  allows  is  all  that  he  actually  has 
perused,  his  judgment  would  not  have  been  different, 
probably  his  indignation  against  them  would  only  have 
been  roused  to  a  higher  pitch.*  But  to  Southey,  him- 
self a  poet,  and  not  without  audacities  of  his  own, 
the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  these  poems  ought  not  to 
have  been  entirely  hidden. 

Nothing,  as  I  have  said,  is  easier  than  to  win  a 
laugh  against  them,  and  nothing  slighter  or  shallower 
than  the  laugh  so  won.  One  has  indeed  for  this  only 
to  enumerate  the  ordinary  personnel  of  these  plays, 
which  consists  of  such  allegorical  or  metaphysical  per- 
sons as  the  following :  The  World,  Idolatry,  Heresy, 
Apostacy,  The  Will,  Thought,  Faith,  Hope,  Charity, 
The  Synagogue,  The  Four  Elements,  The  Fom-  Sea- 
sons, The  Five  Senses,  Innocence,  Grace,  The  Prince, 

*  Bouterwek  {History  of  Sjxinish  Literature,  p.  372,  Ross'  transla- 
tion), is  not  so  scornful,  but  more  inaccurate,  dismissing?  them  in 
about  a  dozen  lines,  and  mentioning  by  name  only  one.  The  Devotion 
of  the  Cross,  which  is  not  an  auto  at  all. 


86  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDEEON. 

The  Man,  Lucifer ;  Tvith  many  more  of  the  same  de- 
scription, and  certain  Old  Testament  characters,  most 
often  these,  Noah,  Isaac,  Joseph,  Moses,  Job,  David, 
Solomon,  Isaiah,  Daniel,  Belshazzar ;  to  these  when 
we  have  added  Orpheus,  Perseus,  Andromeda,  Medu- 
sa, Psyche,  the  Sybils,  with  other  names  of  the  Greek 
mythology,  we  shall  have  the  usual  dramatis  personcB 
of  these  religious  plays.  The  bare  enumeration  is 
alone  sufficient  to  present  ample  material  of  ridicule 
to  one  unable  or  unwilling  to  plant  himself  in  a  region 
of  art  altogether  new,  and  alien  from  all  those  in 
which  he  may  hitherto  have  moved.*  But  one  who 
is  able  to  plant  himself  there,  and  who  cares  to  make 
closer  acquaintance  "with  these  poems,  will  very  soon 
be  filled  with  quite  other  feelings,  as  this  acquaintance 
increases. 

He  will  be  filled,  I  fear  not  to  say,  with  an  endless 
astonishment  and  admiration  at  the  skill  of  the  poet 
in  conquering  the  almost  unconquerable  difficulties  of 
his  theme,  at  the  power  with  which  he  masters  and 
moulds  the  most  heterogeneous  materials,  combining 
them  and  making  them  subservient  to  the  purposes 
of  his  art,  at  the  inexhaustible  variety  which  he  con- 

*  I  am  not  aware  that  any  attempt  has  yet  been  made  to  present 
a  translation,  or  even  analysis  with  occasional  poetical  renderings,  of 
any  one  of  the  aiitos  to  the  English  reader.  Even  the  Germans,  who 
have  translated  a  multitude  of  Calderon's  other  dramas,  appear  gen- 
erally to  have  shrunk  from  these.  Ten  of  them,  excellently  rendei-ed 
by  J.  F.  von  Eichendorff,  Stuttgart,  1846,  1853,  are  all  that  ever 
I  have  hoard  of. 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON.  87 

trives,  by  aid  of  new  combinations,  to  impart  to 
materials  which  he  may  have  been  already  compelled 
often  to  employ,  at  the  transparent  intention  of  his 
allegory,  so  that  the  inner  spirit  looks  ever  through 
the  symbol,  informs  it  with  its  own  life,  and  leaves 
no  doubt  or  hesitation  about  its  meaning.  Add  to 
these  merits  the  gorgeous  poetic  diction,  wherein  he 
clothes  the  flights  of  an  imagination,  for  which  noth- 
ing is  too  bold,  which  dares  to  reach  all  worlds ; 
while,  greatest  triumph  of  all,  he  is  able  to  impart 
even  a  dramatic  interest  to  that  which,  whatever 
other  merits  it  miglit  acquire  in  its  treatment,  seemed 
in  its  very  nature  incapable  of  this  merit.  But  so 
it  is  ;  he  makes  his  reader  to  follow  now,  as  no  doubt 
the  spectator  did  once,  with  liveliest  interest  the  for- 
tunes of  his  abstract  persons.  This  he  effects,  partly 
by  his  consummate  skill,  which  has  not  deserted  him 
here,  in  preparing  and  bringing  about  his  situations, 
but  chiefly  because  these  persons,  abstract  as  they 
are,  are  yet  representatives  of  great  and  abiding  in- 
terests for  man.  It  is  in  one  shape  or  another  man's 
struggle  and  his  temptations,  his  fall  and  his  rise 
again,  with  the  wonders  of  redeeming  love,  which 
are  set  forth  before  our  eyes. 

For  indeed  it  is  the  Christian  poet,  whom,  in  char- 
acterizing the  autos,  we  are  called  primarily  to  con- 
template ;  one  finding  his  inspiration  in  the  great  mys- 
teries of  revelation  and  redemption.     But  while  I  say 


88  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

this,  I  would  not  in  the  least  keep  out  of  sight  that 
Calderon,  a  zealous  Romanist,  and  that  too  after  the 
Spanish  fashion,  writes  earnestly  as  such ;  sometimes, 
therefore,  in  the  interests  of  his  church  as  distinct 
from,  and  opposite  to,  the  interests  of  eternal  truth. 
There  are  of  these  autos  some  which  are  so  shot 
through  with  the  threads  of  superstition  and  error, 
that  these  may  be  said  to  compose  their  main  texture 
and  woof ;  for  instance  one,  but  even  poetically  re- 
garded a  very  poor  one.  The  Protestation  of  the  Faith, 
on  the  reconciliation  of  Queen  Christina  with  the 
church  of  Rome.  These,  however,  are  few.  The 
springs  of  his  inspiration  are  not,  more  than  any  other 
man's,  in  the  errors  which  he  holds,  but  in  the  truth. 
And  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  the  greater  number 
of  these  marvellous  compositions  that  they  are  hymns 
of  loftiest  praise  to  redeeming  Love,  summonses  to  all 
things  which  have  breath  to  praise  the  Lord ;  and  he 
too  that  writes,  writes  as  one  that  has  seen  Satan  fall 
like  lightning  from  heaven,  and  rejoices  in  spirit  with 
his  Lord.* 

*  Schack,  in  his  admirable  History  of  Dramatic  Literature  and  Art 
in  Spain,  referred  to  already,  keeps  for  the  most  part  in  the  cooler 
region  of  prose,  yet  now-and-then  puts  on  his  singing-robes,  and  soars 
into  empyreal  regions,  whither  it  is  not  easy  to  follow  him.  He  does 
so  in  the  following  passage,  in  which  he  characterizes  generally  tho 
best  Spanish  autos,  but  has  evidently  those  of  Calderon  specially  in 
his  eye  (b.  ii.,  p.  398) :  "  Wer  zuerst  in  den  Zaubcrkreis  dieser  Dich- 
tungen  eintritt,  der  fiihlt  sich  von  einem  fremden  Geiste  angewcht, 
und  erblickt  einen  anderen  Himmel,  der  sich  iiber  eine  andcre  Welt 
ausspannt.    Es  ist  als  ob  damonische  Miichte  uns  in  finsteren  Sturme 


THE  GENIUS  OP  CALDERON.  89 

There  is  nothing  which  Calderon  loves  better  to  set 
forth  in  these  autos  than  the  manner  in  which  all  cre- 
ation served  man  in  the  time  of  his  innocence,  but 
turns  upon  him  directly  he  has  sinned  ;  rebels  against 
him,  because  he  has  rebelled  against  his  Lord ;  and 
"will  only  return  to  its  obedience  when  he  has  re- 
turned to  his  own,  which  same  is  a  very  favorite 

davontriigen ;  Schwindelerregende  Tiefen  dcs  Denkens  thun  sich  auf, 
wiinderbar-rathselhafte  Gestalten  einstcigcn  der  Finsterniss,  und  die 
dunkelrothe  Flamme  der  Mystik  leuchtet  in  den  geheimnissvoUen 
Born  hinein,  aus  dem  alle  Dinge  entspringen.  Aber  die  Nebel  zer- 
theilen  sich  und  man  sieht  sich  iiber  die  Schranken  des  Irdischen 
hinaus,  jenseits  von  Raum  und  Zeit,  in  das  Reich  des  Unermesslichen 
und  Ewigen  gerissen.  Hier  verstumn'cn  alle  Misstone ;  bis  hierher 
steigen  die  Stimmen  der  Menschenwelt  nur  wie  feierliche  Hymnen, 
von  Orgelklangen  getragen,  empor.  Ein  riesiger  Dom  von  geistiger 
Architektur  niramt  uns  auf,  in  dessen  ehrfurchtgebietenden  Hallen 
kein  profaner"  Ton  laut  zu  werden  wagt ;  auf  dem  Altar  thront,  von 
magischem  Licht  uraflossen,  das  Mysterium  der  Dreieinigkeit ;  ein 
Strahlenglanz,  wie  ihn  irdische  Sinne  kaum  zu  ertragen  vermogen, 
dringt  hervor  und  umleuchtet  die  gewaltigen  Saulenhallen  mit  einer 
wunderbaren  Glorie.  Hier  sind  alle  Wesen  in  die  Anschauung  des 
Ewigen  versenki  und  blicken  staunend  in  die  unergrundliclien  Tiefen 
der  gottlichen  Liebe.  Die  ganze  Sohopfang  stimmt  in  einen  Jubel- 
chor  zur  Verherrlichung  des  Urquells  alles  Lebens  zusammen ;  selbst 
das  Wesenlose  redet  und  empfindet ;  das  Todte  gewinnt  Sprache  und 
den  lebendigen  Ausdruck  des  Gredankens ;  die  Grestirne  und  Elemente, 
die  Steine  und  Pflanzen  zeigen  Seele  und  Selbstbewusstsein ;  die  ver- 
borgensten  Gedanken  und  Gefiihle  der  Menschen  springen  an's  Licht  ; 
Himmel  und  Erde  strahlen  in  symbolischer  Verklarung.  Auch  ab- 
gesehen  von  dem  tiefen  inneren  Gehalt  dieser  Dichtungen,  muss  der 
Glanz  in  der  Ausfuhrung  des  Einzelnen  entziicken.  Viellcicht  in 
keinem  ihrer  anderen  Werke  haben  die  spanischen  Dichter  den  poet- 
ischen  Reichthum,  iiber  den  sie,  wie  sonst  Niemand,  zu  gebieten  hat- 
ten,  so  concentrirt,  wie  hier.  Es  ist  ein  Farbenschmelz,  ein  Bliithen- 
duft  und  ein  Zauber  des  entzuckendsten  Wohllauts,  der  alle  Sinno 
berauscht."—  (y,,  b.  iii.,  pp.  252-256. 


90  THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDEEON. 

thought  with  Augustine.  Thus,  in  more  than  one  of 
these  mysteries,  the  human  nature  appears  as  a  royal 
princess — all  Nature,  represented,  it  may  be,  by  the 
Four  Seasons,  or  the  Four  Elements,  doing  her  willing 
service,  and  rendering  to  her  freely,  so  long  as  she 
continues  in  her  innocence  and  first  state  of  good, 
homage,  and  obedience ;  laying  at  her  feet  all  the 
choicest  offerings  that  they  have.  So  soon,  however, 
as  she  has  transgressed  the  commandment,  they  all 
rise  up  against  her ;  or,  attempting  to  console  her, 
prove  miserable  comforters,  only  afflicting  the  more. 
This  is  very  sublimely  brought  out  in  The  Poison  and 
the  Antidote,  in  The  Cure  and  the  Sickness,  and  again 
in  The  Painter  of  his  own  Dishonor* 

The  manner  in  which  Calderon  uses  the  Greek  my- 
thology is  exceedingly  interesting.  He  was  gifted 
with  an  eye  singularly  open  for  the  true  religious  ele- 

*  A  portion  of  this  last  passage,  though  inferior  in  beauty  to  the 
other,  may  yet  be  detached  with  slighter  loss  from  its  context.  The 
Human  Nature,  which  was  glorying  just  before  in  the  homage  of  all 
creation,  is  describing  the  different  and  hostile  bearing  which  every- 
thing, now  that  she  sinned,  puts  on : — 

"  La  Tien-a  tiembla,  el  Ayre  me  traspassa, 
El  Mar  me  anega,  el  Resplandor  me  abrasa. 

Fatiga  el  Sol,  al  passo  que  lucia. 

Media  la  Luna  alumbra,  que  alumbraba. 

El  Ave  me  aflige,  que  me  suspendia. 

La  Flor  me  hiere,  que  me  lisonjeaba, 

La  Eiera,  que  obediente  me  seguia, 

Me  huye  ligera,  6  me  resiste  brava ; 

Y  hasta  esta  Fuente,  al  verme  fea,  murmura 

La  poca  edad  quo  vive  una  hermosura." 


THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON.  91 

ment  -which,  however  overlaid  and  debased,  is  yet  to 
be  detected  in  all  inferior  forms  of  religion.  These 
religions  were  to  him  the  vestibules  through  'which 
the  nations  had  been  guided,  till  they  reached  the 
temple  of  the  absolute  religion,  where  God  is  wor- 
shipped in  Christ.  The  reaching  out  and  feeling  after 
an  unknown  true,  of  which  he  detected  something  even 
in  the  sun-worship  of  the  Peruvians,*  he  recognised 
far  more  distinctly  in  the  more  human,  and  therefore 
more  divine,  mythology  and  religion  of  ancient  Greece. 
It  may  be  that  the  genuine  Castilian  alienation  from 
the  Jew,  which  was  not  wanting  in  him,  may  in  part 
have  been  at  work  when  he  extols,  as  he  so  often 
loves  to  do,  the  superior  readiness  of  the  Gentile 
world,  as  contrasted  with  the  Jewish  church,  to  re- 
ceive the  proffered  salvation,  its  greater  receptivity 
of  the  truth.  But  whether  this  may  have  had  any 
share  in  the  matter  or  not,  it  is  a  theme  to  which  he 
is  constantly  in  these  autos  recurring,  and  which 
he  loves  under  the  most  various  aspects  to  present. 
And  generally  he  took  a  manifest  delight  in  find- 
ing or  making  a  deeper  meaning  for  the  legends  and 
tales  of  the  classical  world  —  seeing  in  them  the 
symbols  and  unconscious  prophecies  of  Christian 
truth.  He  had  no  misgivings,  therefore,  but  that 
these  would  yield  themselves  freely  to  be  moulded  by 
his  hands.     He  felt  that  in  employing  them  he  would 

*  See  his  Daybreak  in  Copacabana. 


92  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

not  be  drawing  down  the  sacred  into  the  region  of  the 
profane,  but  elevating  that  which  had  been  profaned 
into  its  own  proper  region  and  place.  These  legends 
of  heathen  antiquity  supply  the  allegorical  substratum 
for  several  of  his  autos*  Now  it  is  The  True  God 
Pan,  or  Perseus  rescuing  Andromeda,  or  Theseus  de- 
stroying the  Labyrinth,  or  Ulysses  defying  the  en- 
chantments, of  Circe,  or  the  exquisite  mythus  of  Cupid 
and  Psyche.  Each  in  turn  supplies  him  with  some 
new  poetical  aspect  under  which  to  contemplate  the 
very  highest  truth  of  all. 

But  while  with  the  freedom  and  boldness  of  a  Chris- 
tian poet,  who  feels  that  all  things  are  his — that  the 
inheritance  on  which  he  enters  is  as  wide  as  the  world 
itself — he  does  not  shrink  from  turning  these  to  his 
purposes,  but  makes  them  yield  up  their  better  mean- 
ing to  him ;  his  autos  rest  more  often  upon  directly 
sacred  foundations,  very  frequently  on  facts  and  per- 
sonages of  the  Old  Testament  which  are  typical  of  the 
New.  The  Brazen  Serpent,  Gideon's  Fleece,  The 
Sheaves  of  Ruth,  Belshazzar'' s  Feast,  The  First  and 
Second  Isaac,  The  Tree  of  the  Choicest  Fruit,  these 


*  There  is  an  elaborate  and  interesting  essay  on  this  subject,  and 
generally  on  the  use  which  Calderon  makes  of  the  classical  mythology, 
by  Leopold  Schmidt  in  the  Rlieinisckes  Museum  fur  Phihlogie,  1855, 
pp.  315-317,  under  this  title,  Veher  Calderon' s  Behandlung  antiker 
Ml/then ;  interesting  in  itself,  and  also  as  showing  that  the  interest  in 
Calderon  is  still  lively  in  Germany,  and  includes  some  of  its  classical 
Echolars. 


THE  GENIUS   OF  CALDERON.  98 

are  the  names  of  some,  and  names  which  will  at  once 
suggest  their  several  arguments.  Some,  again,  are 
the  working  out  of  New-Testament  parables ;  such,  for 
instance,  as  The  Vineyard  of  the  Lord,  The  Wheat 
and  the  Tares,  The  Hid  Treasure.  Others  are  found- 
ed on  legends  of  the  church,  as  The  Leprosy  of  Con- 
stantine ;  while  in  others  scriptural  and  ecclesiastical 
alike  fall  into  the  background,  as  in  The  Great  The- 
atre of  the  World,  Tlie  World^s  Great  Fair,  and  he 
chooses  a  more  purely  ethical  treatment  of  his  subject. 
Several,  again,  are  very  curious,  as  being  doubles  of 
secular  dramas  of  his  own,  generally  with  the  same 
name  which  those  bear,  and  intended  to  furnish  a  key 
to  their  inner  intention.  Thus,  Life's  a  Dream,  of 
which  an  analysis  is  given  in  this  volume,  has  a  dupli- 
cate bearing  the  same  name  among  the  autos,  supply- 
ing many  interesting  points  of  comparison.  It  is  ex- 
actly the  same  with  another.  The  Painter  of  his  own 
Dishonor;  and  Andromeda  and  Perseus  is  in  like 
manner  a  twice-told  tale.  There  are  cases  in  which 
the  name  is  different,  but  the  argument  is  altogether 
the  same ;  only  that  in  the  auto  the  treatment  is  di- 
rectly religious,  which  in  the  secular  drama  it  was 
not ;  thus  Love  the  Greatest  Enchantment  is  the  story 
of  Ulysses  and  Circe  told  in  the  one  sense  ;  The  Sor- 
ceries of  Sin  is  the  same  told  in  the  other  ;  but  with 
most  interesting  and  instructive  cross-lights  from  the 
one  to  the  other. 


94i  THE  GENIUS   OF   CALDERON. 

Very  worthy  of  note  in  not  a  few  of  these  plays  is 
the  skill  with  which  Calderon  turns  to  account  and 
makes  poetry  of  that  which  might  be  supposed  at  first 
a  material  the  most  stubbornly  resisting  and  opposing 
itself  to  any  such  uses — as  doubtless  for  an  ordinary 
genius  it  would  so  prove — I  mean  the  scholastic  the- 
ology of  the  church.  That  it  is  not  really  such,  that 
it  can  supply  stuff  which  the  loftiest  poetry  can  find 
akin  to  and  ministrant  to  itself,  which  it  can  work  up  ho- 
mogeneously into  its  own  texture  and  woof,  this  Dante 
had  abundantly  shown  long  ago ;  to  the  understanding 
of  whose  Divine  Comedy  no  single  book,  after  the 
Yulgate,  has  probably  contributed  gains  so  large  as 
the  Summa  Theolog-ics  of  Aquinas.  Nor  had  Calde- 
ron made  his  studies  for  nothing  in  the  scholastic  the- 
ology at  Salamanca.  The  subtleties  of  it  are  some- 
times not  wanting  in  his  worldly  plays,  where  their 
introduction  can  not  always  be  justified ;  in  his  reli- 
gious there  is  no  such  apparent  unfitness,  and  he  often 
makes  admirable  use  of  this  scholastic  theology  in 
.them ;  it  does  him  excellent  service  there.  Thus, 
when  The  Man  supposes  that  he  can  suffer  one  only 
of  the  Virtues  to  withdraw  from  him,  he  all  the  while 
retaining  the  rest,  and  that  one  gives  its  hand  to  an- 
other, and  that  one  to  the  next,  until  all  forsake  him 
who  has  willingly  dismissed  one,  we  have*  here  the 
great  scriptural  truth  that  obedience  is  of  the  whole 
man ;  that  he  who  is  guilty  of  one  is  guilty  of  all ; 


THE  GENIUS   OP   CALDERON.  96 

that  to  drop  one  link  in  the  golden  chain  of  obedience 
is  to  leave  it  a  chain  no  longer :  but  we  have  this 
truth  under  forms  which  that  theology  supplied. 

In  more  than  one  of  these  autos,  as  in  The  Sacred 
Year  of  Madrid,  he  has  a  magnificent  scene  in  which 
man,  the  pilgrim,  is  forgetting  his  pilgrim  state,  and 
would  fain  play  the  courtier  at  the  great  court  of  this 
world.  The  seven  mortal  Sins  are  arraying  him  and 
furnishing  him  forth,  each  with  the  several  symbols  of 
its  enticement:  Pride  with  hat  and  Feathers — Wan- 
tonness with  a  looking-glass — Avarice  with  a  casket 
of  jewels — Gluttony  with  a  salver  of  fruits — Anger 
with  a  sword — Envy  with  a  cloak  and  hood.  Or, 
again,  as  in  The  World's  Great  Fair,  an  auto  of  rare 
depth  and  beauty,  the  man  enters  as  a  trader  with  his 
intrusted  talent  on  the  great  market-place  of  the  world, 
which  is  set  out  with  all  its  enticing  wares,  with  its 
false  and  its  true,  its  shadows  and  its  substances,  its 
pebbles  and  its  jewels,  its  unattractive  sackcloth,  its 
alluring  purple ;  his  Good  and  his  Evil  Genius,  ever 
as  he  passes  through  the  fair,  severally  suggesting  to 
him  that  he  should  lay  out  his  talent  in  making  these 
or  those  his  own. 

Or,  again,  some  tale  of  the  old  mythology,  as  that 
of  Circe  for  instance,  is  used  for  illustrating  the  en- 
ticements and  allurements  of  sin,  the  deep  entangle- 
ments of  the  flesh — ever,  indeed,  with  the  most  per- 
fect purity ;  the  divine  tact  of  the  poet  shining  out  as 


96  THE   GENIUS   OF   CALDEEON. 

gloriously  here  as  Milton's  in  his  Comus ;  while  yet 
these  flatteries  and  falsehoods  of  the  flesh  have  never 
been  set  forth  with  a  more  wondrous  art.  In  most 
cases,  the  poems  are  triumphant  hymns  of  a  victory 
which  at  the  last  is  gained  over  the  world,  and  sin, 
and  death.  The  man  is  saved ;  and  even  if  he  be  en- 
tangled for  a  while,  he  is  enabled  by  a  better  strength 
than  his  own  to  break  away  at  last.  And  it  is  flit  that 
it  should  most  frequently  be  so  ;  for  these  poems  are 
intended  to  celebrate  the  mysteries  of  redemption. 
Yet  it  is  not  so  always ;  even  as  these  purposes  of  re- 
demption are  not  always  fulfilled,  but  sometimes  baf- 
fled and  defeated  by  the  pride  and  obstinacy  of  man. 
Sometimes,  as  in  that  sublime  auto^  Belshazzar'' s 
Feast,  all  the  resources  of  divine  love  are  exhausted 
in  vain,  and  the  sinner  perishes  in  despite  of  them  all. 
While  thus  in  so  many,  man  and  man's  trial  and 
temptation  occupy  the  foremost  places  of  the  drama, 
the  interest  revolving  around  him  and  turning  on  the 
final  issues  of  his  conflict,  the  Divine  Helper  only 
coming  in  to  assist  and  to  deliver ;  in  others.  He  is 
the  protagonist,  and  assumes  the  foremost  place  in  the 
whole.  Thus  is  it  when  He,  as  the  Divine  Orpheus, 
in  the  play  bearing  this  name,  goes  down  to  hell  to 
bring  back  his  lost  Eurydice ;  as  Perseus  slays  the 
sea-monster,  and  unbinds  the  doomed  Andromeda 
from  the  rock  on  which  she  had  been  exposed ;  or  as 
Love  delivers  Psyche  from  all  the  consequences  of  her 


THE  GENIUS   OF  CALDERON.  97 

fault,  helps  her  to  surmount  her  trials,  and  at  length 
is  united  to  her  for  ever.* 

But  I  must  not  attempt  to  follow  out  any  farther 
this  portion  of  the  subject.  It  would  not  be  easy  to 
exhaust  all  which,  on  the  matter  of  these  autos,  sug- 
gests itself  to  be  said ;  and  I  must  be  contented  with 
offering  to  the  reader,  not  otherwise  informed,  this 
slight  and  imperfect  sketch  of  these  strange  and  won- 
derful compositions,  and  with  the  intention  to  add  to 
this  the  rapid  analysis  of  one  among  them,  before  this 
volume  is  done. 

*  See  an  analyisis  of  this  last  in  Southey's  Omniana,  vol.  i.,  p.  128. 

5 


OS"*  CALDERON   IN   ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER   I\  . 

CALDERON    IN    ENGLAND. 

The  life  of  Calderon  was  so  greatly  prolonged  that 
he  touched,  and  was  contemporary  with,  two  entirely 
different  periods  of  English  dramatic  literature. 
When  he  began  to  write,  Shakespeare,  indeed,  was 
just  dead ;  but  Jonson,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Mas- 
singer,  Ford  and  Shirley,  were  in,  or  had  not  as  yet 
attained,  their  prime.  All  these,  as  indeed  the  whole 
generation  of  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  with  the 
exception  of  Shirley,  died  out  before  our  civil  wars 
began ;  but  Calderon,  overliving  these  wars,  lasted 
on  into  a  wholly  different  epoch,  that  of  the  artificial 
stilted  tragedy,  and  of  the  comedy,  in  all  respects 
more  discreditable  still,  of  the  Restoration. 

There  is  no  evidence  that  during  the  first  of  these 
periods  any  of  Calderon's  plays  had  found  their  way 
to  England,  or  were  imitated  by  English  writers,  or 
that  his  name  had  been  so  much  as  heard  among  us. 
The  language,  indeed,  would  have  proved  no  barrier ; 
on  the  contrary,  a  considerable  number  of  our  dra- 
matic compositions  belonging  to  this  time  are  founded 


CALDERON   IN   ENGLAND.  9^ 

on  Spanish  novels  and  romances  ;  and  there  is  abun- 
dant evidence  that  Spanish  was  during  the  latter  half 
of  the  sixteenth  and  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century  very  widely  known  in  England ;  indeed,  far 
more  familiar  than  it  ever  since  has  been.  The  wars 
in  the  Low  Countries,  in  which  so  many  of  our  coun- 
trymen served,  the  probabilities  at  one  period  of  a 
match  with  Spain,  the  fact  that  Spanish  was  almost 
as  serviceable,  and  scarcely  less  indispensable,  at 
Brussels,  at  Milan,  at  Naples,  and  for  a  time  at 
Vienna,  not  to  speak  of  Lima  and  Mexico,  than  at 
Madrid  itself,  the  many  points  of  contact,  friendly 
and  hostile,  of  England  with  Spain  for  well  nigh  a 
century,  all  this  had  conduced  to  an  extended  knowl- 
edge of  Spanish  in  England.*     It  was  popular  at 

*  The  number  of  Spanish  words  in  English  (I  do  not  mean  to  say 
they  all  belong  to  this  period,  yet  certainly  many  of  them  do)  are  a 
signal  evidence  of  a  lively  intercourse  between  the  nations,  and  famil- 
iar acquaintance  on  our  part  with  the  language.  Such  are  '  alcove,' 
'alligator,'  'armada,'  'armadillo,'  ' baiTicade,'  'buffalo,'  'cambist,' 
'caprice'  (the  earlier  spelling  'caprich'  seems  to  indicate  that  we  got 
the  word  from  Spain,  not  from  France  or  Italy),  '  carbonado,' '  cargo,* 
'cigar,'  'Creole,'  'don,'  'duenna,'  'embargo,'  'flotilla,'  'gala,'  'gran- 
dee,' 'jennet,'  'mosquito,'  'mulatto,'  'negro,'  'olio,'  'palaver,'  'par- 
agon,' 'platina,'  'parroquet,'  'punctilio,'  'renegado,'  'savannah,' 
'  sherry,'  '  sti-appado,' '  tornado,' '  vanilla,' '  verandah.'  To  these  may 
be  added  some  which,  having  held  their  place  awhile  in  the  language, 
have  now  disappeared  from  it  again.  Such  are  'quirpo'  (cuerpo)  a 
jacket  fitting  quite  close  to  the  body,  'quellio,'  (cuello)  a  collar  or 
ruff,  '  flota,'  the  constant  name  for  the  yearly  fleet  from  the  Indies, 
'matachin,'  a  sword-dance,  'privado,'  a  prince's  favorite,  one  admit- 
ted into  his  privacy ;  '  reformado,'  an  officer  for  the  present  out  of 
employment,  but  retaining  his  rank ;  '  alferez,'  an  ensign  ;  none  of 


100  CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND. 

court.  Queen  Mary  and  Queen  Elizabeth  were  both 
excellent  Spanish  scholars.  A  passage  in  Howell's 
Letters  would  imply  that  at  the  time  of  Charles  the 
First's  visit  to  Madrid,  his  Spanish  was  imperfect ; 
but  at  a  later  date,  that  is,  in  1635,  a  Spanish  play 
was  acted  by  a  Spanish  company  before  him.*  The 
statesmen  and  scholars  of  the  time  were  rarely  igno- 
rant of  the  language.  We  might  confidently  presume 
Raleigh's  acquaintance  with  it ;  but  in  his  Discovery 
of  Guiana  and  other  writings  there  is  abundant  proof 
of  this.  We  observe  the  same  evidence  of  a  familiar 
knowledge  of  Spanish  on  Lord  Bacon's  part  in  the 
Spanish  proverbs  which  he  quotes,  and  in  the  fine  ob- 
servation which  occasionally  he  makes  on  a  Spanish 
word.f  It  was  among  the  many  accomplishments  of 
Archbishop  Williams,  who,  when  the  Spanish  match 
was  pending,  caused  the  English  Liturgy  to  be  trans- 
lated under  his  own  eye  into  Spanish.^ 

The  language,  therefore,  would  have  opposed  no 
barrier ;  yet  it  is  not  till  after  the  Restoration  that 
any  traces  of  acquaintance  with  Calderon  on  the  part 
of  English  writers  appear.  Little  or  nothing,  how- 
ever, came  of  this  acquaintance  then ;  as  the  genius 

which  are  of  unfrequent  occuiTence  in  our  literature  of  tlie  seventcentli 
century. 

*  Collier,  History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry,  1831,  vol.  ii.,  p.  69. 

t  Tlius  on  desenvoltura  in  his  Essay  on  Fortune. 

t  Hacket's  Life  of  Archbishop  Williams,  part  i.,  p.  127.  For  proofs 
of  Ben  Jonson's  Spanish,  if  there  needed  such,  see  The  Alchemist, 
act  iv.,  scenes  i.  and  ii. 


CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND.  101 

was  wanting  on  the  part  of  our  playwrights  to  create 
poetry  of  their  own,  so  was  it  wanting  to  profit  by 
the  creations  of  others.  Elvira  or  The  worst  not  al- 
ways true,  by  the  earl  of  Bristol,  is  a  very  poor  recast 
of  Calderon's  comedy  of  the  same  name  ;*  one  from 
which  all  the  grace  and  charm  of  the  original  have  de- 
parted. Another  piece  in  Dodsley's  Collection,  The 
Adventures  of  Five  Hours,  which  one  crown  trans- 
lated at  the  desire  of  Charles  II.,  is  a  Spanish  piece, 
but  is  not  Calderon's,  as  is  erroneously  asserted  in 
the  preliminary  remarks.  Dryden's  Mock  Astrol- 
oger, which  appeared  in  1668,f  is  drawn  directly 
from  Le  Feint  Astrologue  of  the  younger  Corneille, 
but  not  without  comparison  on  the  English  poet's  part 
with  Corneille's  original,  El  Astrologo  Fingido  of 
Calderon.  Dryden,  in  that  same  spirit  of  strange 
delusion  which,  in  respect  of  the  worth  of  his  own 
and  his  contemporaries'  dramatic  compositions,  seemed 
always  to  possess  him,  ventures  on  the  following  as- 
sertion, "  I  will  be  so  vain  to  say,  it  has  lost  nothing 
in  my  hands"  (p.  229).  Never  was  poet  more  mis- 
taken ;  it  has  lost  the  elegance,  the  fancy,  everything 
which  was  worth  retaining ;  its  gains  being  only  in 
ribaldry,  douhle-entendre,  and  that  sort  of  coarse  im- 
purity in  which,  xmhappily,  Dryden  so  much  delight- 

*  See  Dodsley's  Collection  of  Old  Plays,  vol.  xii.,  pp.  127-212 
Ite  date  is  1667. 
t  Works  (Sir  Walter  Scott's  edition),  vol.  iii.,  p.  207,  sqq. 


102  CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND. 

ed;  a  sort  wWch  fortunately  in  great  part  defeats 
itself,  being  very  much  more  calculated  to  turn  the 
stomach  than  to  kindle  the  passions.  His  plays  are, 
indeed,  as  a  German  critic  has  styled  them,  "  incred- 
ibly bad,"  their  moral  tone  and  their  art  being  about 
on  an  equality  of  badness,  so  that  they  appear,  I  con- 
fess, to  me  quite  undeserving  that  toleration,  and 
sometimes  much  more  than  toleration,  which  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  has  extended  to  them. 

During  the  eighteenth  century  Calderon's  name  is, 
I  should  suppose,  hardly  mentioned,  or  only  men- 
tioned in  the  slightest  and  most  inaccurate  way,  in 
English  books.  One  comedy  I  am  aware  of,  which 
the  author  announces  as  a  translation*  from  him ;  but 
of  no  other  point  of  contact  between  him  and  our 
English  literature  during  the  century.  In  fact,  for  a 
long  period  Don  Quixote  was  supposed  to  be  Spanish 
literature ;  and,  as  we  esteemed,  we  had  here  not  the 
man  unius  Hbri,  but  in  a  somewhat  different  sense, 
the  nation.  The  Schlegels  were  the  earliest  to  waken 
up  any  new  interest  about  him.  This  they  did  first 
in  Germany,  and  the  same  has  since  extended,  though 
very  faintly  indeed,  to  England.  They  effected  this, 
Augustus  William  by  his  Spanish  Theatre,  which,  in 
fact,  is  a  translation  of  five  plays  of  Calderon  ;f  by 

*  'Tis  yrdl  it's  no  worse,  London,  1770,  from  Calderon's  El  Escon- 
dido  y  la  Tapada. 
+  Berlin,  1803-1809. 


CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND.  103 

his  Lectures  on  Dramatic  Art  and  Literature  ;*  and 
Frederic  by  his  History  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Lit- 
erature.^ One  of  the  first  in  England  whose  atten- 
tions was  attracted  to  Calderon  was  Shelley,  who,  in 
one  of  his  letters,  with  date  December,  1819,  pre- 
served to  us  in  Leigh  Hunt's  Lord  Byron  and  his 
Contemporaries y  expresses  himself  thus :  "  Some  of 
the  ideal  dramas  of  Calderon  with  which  I  have  late- 
ly, and  with  inexpressible  wonder  and  delight,  be- 
come acquainted,  are  perpetually  tempting  me  to 
throw  over  their  perfect  and  glowing  forms  the  gray 
veil  of  my  own  words." 

Various  articles  have  since  appeared  from  time  to 
time  in  our  leading  periodicals,:):  either  seeking  to 
take  the  measure  of  Calderon's  genius,  or  presenting 
actual  specimens  of  it,  in  more  than  one  case  entire 
dramas :  and  in  this  way,  or  in  independent  volumes. 
a  considerable  number  of  his  plays  have  been  made 
accessible  to  the  English  reader,  who,  however,  has 
never  been  persuaded  to  take  any  lively  interest  in 
the  literature  thus  brought  within  his  reach.  The 
deeper  reasons  of  this  indifference,  the  causes  which 
will  always  hinder  his  finding  any  very  cordial  recep- 

*  Heidelberg,  1809-18U.  t  Vienna,  1815. 

X  As  one  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  April,  1821.  This,  with  another 
in  Blackwood,  December,  1839,  and  a  third  in  the  Westminster  and 
Foreign  Quarterly,  January,  1851,  are,  with  one  exception,  of  which  I 
shall  speak  presently,  the  best  general  articles  on  Calderon  of  which 
I  know ;  although  none  of  them  can  be  considered  wholly  satisfactory. 


104  CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND. 

tion  in  England,  I  will  not  attempt  to  enter  upon. 
They  lie  deep ;  and  the  best  explanation  of  them  1 
know  is  to  be  found  in  two  masterly  articles  in  The 
Athenceum  on  Calderon,*  written  with  a  more  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  their  subject  that  anything  else 
with  which  in  English  I  am  acquainted. 

Other  difficulties  which  will  hinder  his  obtaining  a 
home  among  us,  or  admiration  from  those  who  do  not 
read  him  in  his  own  language,  are  more  external,  yet 
they  are  not  less  real.  They  respect  the /orws  which 
translations  from  the  Spanish  theatre  must  assume, 
and  involve  practical  questions  which  do  not  receive 
an  easy  solution.  While  one  or  two  metres  predom- 
inate in  the  "Spanish  drama,  it  claims  for  itself  the 
right  of  unlimited  variety  ;  and  there  is,  I  believe,  no 
metre  which  the  language  in  other  compositions  has 
allowed  and  adopted,  which  does  not  find  its  occa- 
sional place  here ;  even  the  sonnet  itself  is  not  ex- 
cluded. At  the  same  time  the  main  staple  and  woof 
of  the  dialogue  is  the  trochaic  line  of  seven  or  eight 
syllables,  in  which  the  Spanish  romances  are  written, 
and  which  may  be  called  pre-eminently  the  national 
metre.  This  is  constructed  on  a  scheme  altogether 
strange  to  our  ears.  One  rhyme  will  run  through 
the  whole  of  a  Spanish  romance,  or  through  some 
hundred  lines  of  a  Spanish  play,  recurring  in  every 
alternate  line.     But  then  this  rhyme  is  not  a  full  one, 

*  November  19  and  26,  1853. 


CALDEROX  IN  ENGLAND.  105 

like  ours,  where  consonants  and  vowels  must  rhyme 
alike  ;  but  so  long  as  the  vowels  rhyme,  the  con- 
sonants are  free.  Thus  the  assonants^  as  in  Span- 
ish they  are  called,  to  distinguish  them  from  full 
or  consonant  rhymes,  such  as  crwzan,  juntas,  una, 
would  be  considered  to  rhyme  with  one  another 
for  the  sake  of  the  vowels  u — a  recurring  in  each 
word.  It  is  as  though  we  should  allow  "  raiment," 
"  angel,"  "  greater,"  to  rhyme  on  the  ground  of  the 
recurring  a — e;  or  "fire,"  "mine,"  "right"  (for 
the  rhymes  are  not  always  double),  for  the  sake  of 
the  long  i  in  each.* 

For  one  who  is  deeply  convinced  of  the  intimate 
coherence  between  a  poem's  form  and  its  spirit,  and 
that  one  can  not  be  altered  without  at  the  same  time 
most  seriously  affecting  the  other,  the  metrical  form 
of  a  great  poem  being  not  the  garment  which  it  wears, 
and  which,  as  a  garment,  may  be  exchanged  for  an- 
other of  a  somewhat  different  pattern,  but  the  flesh 
and  blood  which  tlie  inner  soul  of  it  has  woven  for  it- 
self, and  which  is  a  part  of  its  own  life  for  ever,  for  him 
there  is  no  choice  left  in  translating  Calderon,but  to  en- 
deavor to  render  the  Spanish  trochaic  assonants  into 
English  lines  of  exactly  the  same  construction.  No 
English  translator  has  hitherto  attempted  this.  Yet 
seeming  as  it  does  to  me  one  of  the  necessary  condi- 

*  See  a  good  account  of  the  Spanish  assonants  and  their  origin  in 
Lord  Holland's  Lom  de  Vega,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  215-222. 

5* 


106  CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND. 

tions  of  a  successful  fulfilling  of  the  task  which  he 
undertakes,  I  have  not  shrunk  from  the  attempt.  The 
thing  itself  is,  indeed,  not  very  difficult ;  at  least  it 
presents  no  difficulties  which  a  fair  amount  of  patience 
and  labor,  with  a  reasonable  command  over  the  re- 
sources of  the  language,  will  not  overcome.  But  un- 
fortunately when  the  task  is  accomplished,  at  least, 
with  any  such  skill  as  I  could  command,  the  assonant, 
however  it  may  sound  in  the  Spanish,  makes  in  Eng- 
lish no  satisfying  music  or  melody  to  the  ear. 

No  doubt  the  verses  are  better  for  this  ghost  and 
shadow  of  a  rhyme  than  they  would  have  been  with- 
out it ;  and  in  the  long  run  and  in  the  total  impres- 
sion which  a  passage  leaves  behind  it,  the  assonant 
certainly  makes  itself  felt.  Still  there  is  a  poverty 
about  the  English  vowel  rhyme  to  the  English  ear ; 
which  has  not  been  trained  to  watch  for  it,  and  which 
for  a  long  while  fails  to  detect  it.  Add  to  this  that 
so  many  English  vowels  being  shut,  while  Spanish 
are  mostly  open,  there  is  much  less  to  mark  the  rhyme 
in  English  than  in  Spanish  ;  not  to  say  further  that 
in  every  case  of  the  double  or-  feminine  rhyme,  the 
second  vowel  in  English  must  be  e,  that  is,  the  vowel 
with  the  slightest  sound  of  all ;  words  in  a — a,  as 
flgate  and  palace,  or  o — o,  as  concord  and  foremost, 
or  in  any  other  combination  but  a — e,  e — e,  i — e,  o — e, 
or  u — e,  being  too  unfrequent  to  allow  of  those  asso- 
nants being  chosen.     Still  it  must  be  done  in  this 


CALDERON  IX  ENGLAND.  107 

metre  or  not  at  all ;  and  because  it  is  so  difficult  to 
do  it  in  this  so  as  sufficiently  to  gratify  the  ear,  there- 
fore, I  believe  the  attempt  to  render  any  Spanish 
drama  in  English  can  never  be  more  than  partially 
successful.* 

Many  translators,  however,  have  not  seen  this  ne- 
cessity as  I  have  seen  it,  and  forsaking  wholly  or  in 
part  the  metres  of  the  original,  have  cast  their  trans- 
lations into  other  metrical  forms ;  it  may  be  into  our 
usual  dramatic  blank  verse,  or  it  may  be  into  some 
form  which  shall  be  a  compromise  between  this  and 
that  which  they  have  not  ventured  to  follow.  They 
have  thus  bound  themselves,  as  I  can  not  but  consider 
it,  to  a  certain  failure,  abandoning  the  only  principle 
of  all  true  translation,  which  demands  adherence  to  the 
form  as  well  as  to  the  essence  of  the  original.  They 
have  generally  fallen  back  on  blank  verse.  But  what 
could  be  more  unlike  one  another  than  the  slow  and 
somewhat   stately  movement   of  our  long  dramatic 

*  Schlegel,  Gries,  and  Malsburgh,  Schack,  EichendorfF,  and  all 
who  have  attempted  to  transfer  the  southern  poets  into  the  language 
of  Gtermany,  have  invariably  employed  the  assonant  where  they  have 
found  it  in  the  originals.  It  is  not  quite  so  strange  with  them  as  with 
us,  seciiJ'^  that,  although  quite  a  modem  invention,  it  has  been  occa- 
sionally used  by  German  poets  in  compositions  of  their  own,  as  by 
Frederic  Schlegel  in  his  Alarcos,  and  by  Tieck  in  his  Octavian.  Yet 
there  also  it  has  found  earnest  resistance;  the  same  charges  have 
been  brought  against  it  to  which  it  is  evidently  exposed  with  us ;  and 
it  is  very  doubtful  whether  it  has  really  established  itself,  whether  it 
is  there  more  than  an  exotic ;  not  adopted,  but  only  tolerated  as  a 
matter  of  necessity,  in  the  rendering  of  Spanish  or  Portuguese  poetry. 


108  CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND. 

iambic,  and  the  quick  lyric  flow  of  the  Spanish  asso 
nants,  short  trochaics  of  seven  or  eight  syllables  in 
length  ?  while  the  portions  of  Calderon's  plays  writ- 
ten in  full  consonant  rhymes,  and  they  are  very  con- 
siderable, appear  still  less  like  themselves  when  strip- 
ped of  their  rich  recurrence  of  similar  sounds,  their 
often  curiously  interlaced  rhymes ;  when  clothed 
throughout  in  this  same  miiform  dress,  with  all  the 
rhythmical  distinctions  between  one  part  and  another 
obliterated  wholly.  Shelley  felt  so  strongly  the  fatal 
consequences  of  rendering  those  parts  of  his  original 
which  are  thus  steeped  in  the  music  of  their  rhymes 
into  our  blank  verse,  his  poetic  sense  so  far  revolted 
against  it,  that,  however  he  may  have  rendered  the 
assonants  in  this,  those  parts  at  least  he  clothes  in 
rhymes,  irregular  indeed,  while  the  utmost  regularity 
reigns  in  the  original,  but  yet  of  a  rare  grace  and 
beauty.  For  the  most  part,  however,  those  who  em- 
ploy the  blank  verse  employ  it  throughout ;  it  passes 
like  a  heavy  roller  over  all,  leveling  all,  and  often 
crushing  all.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  any 
greater  transformation  than  that  which  Calderon  thus 
undergoes,  even  where  a  translation  fulfils  in  other 
respects  all  the  conditions  of  such. 

Other  translators  feeling  this,  have  sought  to  evade 
the  difficulty  in  another  way.  They  have  dealt  with 
the  fall  rhymed  portions  of  the  original  as  Shelley  has 
done  ;  this  Avas  obvious ;  but  in  respect  of  the  Spanish 


CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND.  109 

assonants  they  have  taken  a  middle  course ;  not  ren- 
dering them  into  our  blank  verse,  nor  yet  into  English 
assonants ;  rather  by  a  compromise  they  have  thrown 
them  into  lines  of  equivalent  length  and  accent,  at 
the  same  time  without  attempting  to  reproduce  the 
assonant  or  vowel  rhyme.  I  can  not  consider  the 
scheme  otherwise  than  as  wholly  unsuccessful.  Slight 
and  faintly  distinguished  by  the  English  ear  as  the 
assonant  is,  it  is  yet  that  which  alone  gives  form  and 
frame  to  these  verses  ;  and  the  short  blank  trochaics, 
deprived  of  this,  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  held  in  by 
any  of  those  bonds  and  restraints  which  are  the  essence 
of  verse,  and  in  fact  have  neither  the  merits  of  verse 
nor  of  prose. 

I  see  here  not  the  entire,  but  quite  a  sufficient,  ex- 
planation of  the  little  popularity  which  Calderon  has 
ever  obtained  in  England,  of  the  little  which  he  is 
ever  likely  to  obtain.  The  translator  is  in  a  manner 
shut  in  to  failure  ;  and  this,  even  supposing  him  to  be 
in  other  respects  sufficiently  equipped  for  the  task 
which  he  has  undertaken.  Of  course  it  will  have 
happened  with  these  translators,  as  with  any  other 
body  of  verse-writers,  that  some  will  have  mistaken 
their  powers,  and  will  have  manifestly  been  inade- 
quately furnished  with  the  technical  skill  which  their 
task  demanded ;  and  their  deficiency  here  has  been 
itself  quite  enough  to  account  for  their  ill  success, 
without  seeking  the  cause  of  it  further.     Yet  this  by 


110  CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND. 

no  means  has  been  the  case  with  all.  Many  have 
displayed  abundant  grace  and  poetry  and  feeling, 
with  mastery  of  their  own  language  and  of  that  from 
which  they  were  translating — even  where  they  have 
not  taken,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the  best  course  in  re- 
spect of  the  difficulties  before  them.  Thus  many 
years  ago  there  was  a  series  of  well-written  analyses 
of  plays  of  Calderon,  with  large  passages  translated 
in  Blackwood' s  Magazine.  Others  are  scattered  up 
and  down  in  our  periodical  literature ;  thus  a  solid 
and  scholarly,  though  not  very  poetical,  translation 
of  Lifers  a  Dream,  appeared  in  The  Monthly  Mag- 
azine, 1842,  Nos.  549-551,  and  an  analysis  more  re- 
cently in  Fraser's  Magazine,  Aug.  1849,  of  The 
Three  greatest  Prodigies. 

Probably  the  noble  but  unfinished  fragments  of  The 
Wonder-working  Magician,  first  published  by  Mrs. 
Shelley  in  the  Posthumous  Poems  of  her  husband, 
which  show  that  he  did  yield  himself  to  the  charm 
of  these  dramas,  are  that  by  which  Calderon  is  known 
the  best  to  the  English  reader.*    They  are,  however, 

*  That  we  have  here  a  poet  translating  a  poet  is  plain :  witness 
these  lines  describing  a  wreck  : — 

"  As  in  contempt  of  the  elemental  rage, 
A  man  comes  forth  in  safety,  while  the  ship's 
Great  form  is  in  a  watery  eclipse, 
Obliterated  from  the  ocean's  page. 
And  round  its  wreck  the  huge  sea-monsters  sit, 
A  horrid  conclave,  and  the  whistling  wave 
Is  heaped  over  its  carcass,  like  a  grave." 


CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND.  Ill 

too  few  and  too  fragmentary  to  aflford  more  than  a 
glimpse  of  that  poet  about  whom  Shelley  spoke  with 
so  passionate  an  enthusiasm  ;  and,  probably,  had  they 
received  the  last  touch  of  his  hand,  they  would  not 
have  appeared  altogether  in  their  present  shape.  It 
may  be  permitted  also  to  doubt  whether  Shelley  was 
a  very  accurate  Spanish  scholar.  Justina,  by  J.  H., 
1848,  is  another  rendering  of  the  same  play.  The 
writer  appears  unaware  of  Shelley's  previous  version 
of  some  of  its  scenes,  and  did  not  possess  that  command 
of  the  resources  of  the  English  language  which  none 
more  than  Calderon  requires.  Six  Dramas  of  Cal- 
deron,  freely  translated,  \>j  Edward  Fitzgerald,  1853, 
are  far  the  most  important  and  worthiest  contribution 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  Spanish  poet  which  we  have 
yet  received.  But,  written  as  they  are  in  English  of 
an  exquisite  purity  and  vigor,  and  dealing  with  poetry 
in  a  poet's  spirit,  they  yet  suffer,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
under  serious  drawbacks.  Mr.  Fitzgerald  has  chosen, 
and  avows  that  he  has  chosen,  plays  which,  with  the 
exception  of  the  noble  Mar/or  of  Zalamea,  can  hardly 
be  said  to  rank  among  Calderon's  greatest,  being 
rather  effective  melodramas  than  works  of  highest 
art.  He  does  this  with  the  observation — "  Such 
plays  as  the  Mag-ico  Prodigioso  and  the  Vida  es 
Sueno  require  another  translator,  and,  I  think,  form 
of  translation."  In  respect  of  "  form  of  translation" 
I  am  compelled  to  agree  with  him,  his  version  being* 


112  CALDEEON  IN  ENGLAND. 

for  the  most  part  in  English  blank  verse ;  but  how 
little  likely  Calderon  is  to  obtain  a  more  gifted  trans- 
lator, and  how  much  his  modest  choice  of  plays  on 
which  to  exercise  his  skill,  which  are  not  among  his 
author's  best,  is  to  be  regretted,  I  think  the  reader 
will  own  after  a  single  quotation  from  this  volume ; — 

"  He  who  far  off  beholds  another  dancing, 
Even  one  who  dances  best,  and  all  the  time 
Hears  not  the  music  that  he  dances  to, 
Thinks  him  a  madman,  apprehending  not 
The  law  which  moves  his  else  eccentric  action. 
So  he  that's  in  himself  insensible 
Of  love's  sweet  influence,  misjudges  him 
Who  moves  according  to  love's  melody : 
And  knowing  not  that  all  these  sighs  and  tears, 
Ejaculations  and  impatiences. 
Are  necessary  changes  of  a  measure 
Which  the  divine  musician  plays,  may  call 
The  lover  crazy,  which  he  would  not  do, 
Did  he  within  his  own  heart  hear  the  tune 
Played  by  the  great  musician  of  the  world." — p.  15. 

There  followed  this  in  the  same  year  another  selection 
under  the  title.  Dramas  of  Calderon,  translated  from 
the  Spanish,  by  Denis  Florence  McCarthy.  The  pref- 
ace contains  some  very  serviceable  literary  notices  in 
respect  of  what  has  been  already  done  for  Calderon  in 
England.     The  translations  themselves  are  sometimes 


CALDERON  IN  ENGLAND.  113 

meritorious,  yet  I  can  not  consider  them  generally 
successful.  In  regard  of  the  metrical  scheme  on  which 
they  rest,  they  furnish  an  example  of  that  compromise 
between  the  demands  of  the  original  metre  and  the 
convenience  of  the  translator  with  which  just  now  I 
found  fault.  The  short  trochaic  is  for  the  most  part 
preserved,  but  stripped  of  its  assonants. 

Thus  far  a  critic  of  other  men's  attempts,  I  must 
now  in  turn  expose  to  criticism  my  own. 


TEANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 


LIFE'S  A  DREAM, 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD. 


I. 

LIFE'S   A   DREAM. 

"Life's  a  Dream"  was  first  published  in  the  year 
1635.  In  that  year  the  brother  of  the  poet  published, 
of  course  "with  his  sanction,  a  volume  containing  nine 
of  his  dramas,  being  the  earliest  authorized  edition  of 
any  of  his  works  ;  and  this  occupies  the  foremost  place 
among  them.  If  we  suppose  it  to  have  been  written 
not  very  long  before,  and  it  is  certainly  not  one  of  his 
youthful  attempts,  it  will  then  pertain  to  that  period 
of  his  life  when  his  imaginative  and  creative  faculties 
were  at  the  highest ;  his  deepest  devotional  feelings 
belong  to  a  later  period :  it  will  also  represent  his 
diction  at  its  best. 

The  inner  meaning  of  this  drama,  and  that  which, 
elevating  it  above  a  mere  tale  of  adventures,  gives  to 
it  a  higher  significance,  will  hardly  escape  the  thought- 
ful reader.  Indeed,  the  very  name  which  it  bears 
will  put  at^nce  "the  key  of  knowledge"  into  his 
hands.  kThe  solemn  sense  of  the  nothingness  of  this 
life,  as  contrasted  with  the  awful  reality  of  eternity,  has 


118  TRANSLATIONS   FKOM   CALDERON. 

often  found  its  utterance  under  the  image  which  this 
name  at  once  suggests  J  That  this  life  is  only  a  dream, 
and  eternity^tbe  waking,  this  has  been  often  the  theme 

j^ftha  ean7<?fiit.  f^ligjou^lteftclier  ;  and  many  noble  pas- 
sages from.  Ohristian,  and  not  Christian  only,  but  hea- 
iheH"Inoralists,  are  the  utterance  of  this  truest  thought. 

\  In  this  play  of  Calderon's  we  have  the  same  thought 
finding  its  embodiment  in  the  free  region  of  art ;  its 
moral,  although  that  is  not  forced  upon  the  reader, 
being  that  this  present  life  of  ours,  however  it  may 
be  only  such  a  dream,  is  yet  one  which  it  lies  in  our 
power  to  dream  well  or  ill,  and  that,  as  our  choice  is 
for  the  one  or  for  the  other,  even  so  will  our  awaking 
be:— 

"  Sogno  della  mia  vita  e  il  corso  intero ; 
Deh  tu,  Signor,  quando  a  destarmi  arrivo. 
Fa  ch'io  trovi  riposo  in  sen  del  Vero." 

This  truth,  which  in  art  has  been  often  brought  out 
on  its  comic,  has  been  much  seldomer  on  its  more  ear- 
nest side.  The  framework  in  which  Shakespeare  has 
set  his  Taming'  of  the  Shrew  is,  as  is  familiar  to  all, 
such  a  comic  transfer  of  a  drunken  tinker  in  his  sleep 
to  a  nobleman's  palace  ;  with  "doubtless  the  intention, 
which  the  poet  has  omitted  to  carry  out,  of  bearing 
him  back  again  to  his  rags  and  his  alehouse  so  soon 
as  the  sport  was  exhausted,  and  suffering  him  to  be- 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  119 

lieve  that  all  which  he  had  seen  and  lived  was  only 
a  dream ;  the  play  itself  being  subordinated  to  this 
scheme,  and  properly  only  an  interlude  acted  before 
him.  There  is  a  still  earlier  drama  printed  in  the 
Six  Old  Plays,  dealing  with  the  same  subject ;  one 
also,  as  I  have  understood,  Jeppe  paa  Bierge,  by 
Holberg,  the  chief  dramatic  poet  of  Denmark.  This 
drama  of  Calderon's,  which  deals  with  the  more  seri- 
ous and  solemn  aspect  of  the  same  subject,  has  been 
a  great  favorite  in  Germany  since  the  reawakened 
interest  in  Calderon.  It  has  been  acted  with  remark- 
able success,  and  three  or  four  times  translated  into 
German.  I  am  only  acquainted  with  one  of  these 
translations,*  that  of  Gries,  which  appears  to  me  ad- 
mirably done.  As  regards  any  English  forerunners 
in  my  task,  I  have  already  alluded  to  a  solid  and  vig- 
orous translation  of  this  play  into  English  blank  verse, 
which   appeared  in    The  Monthly  Magazine,  Nos. 


*  I  do  not  count  among  these  Das  Leben  als  ein  Traum,  von  D.  F. 
H.  W.  M.,  Strassburg,  1750;  the  author  of  which  does  not  seem  to 
be  aware  that  the  play  was  originally  Spanish.  He  has  translated 
from  an  Italian  translation,  and  the  work,  considering  the  double 
alembic  which  it  has  passed  through,  is  not  ill  done ;  nor  yet  Das 
menschliche  Leben  ist  Traum,  von  M.  T.  F.  Scharfcnstein,  1760,  which 
also  is  an  imitation  at  second  hand.  Neither  is  a  play  in  Dutch,  Siff- 
ismundus  Prinse  van  Polen,  of  Het  Leeven  is  een  Droom,  Amsterdam, 
1705  —  a  translation,  though  certainly  founded  upon  Calderon.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  Sigismond,  due  de  Varsau,  by  Gillet  de  la  Tis- 
soneiie,  Paris,  1646.  Boissy's  La  vie  est  un  Songe,  Paris,  1732,  I 
know  only  by  name.  Damas  Hinard  has  a  faithful  prose  translation, 
in  his  Chefs  d'oenvre  dn  Theatre  Espagnol,  t.  i.,  pp.  318-374. 


120       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

549-551, 1842,  by  Johii  Oxenford ;  its  metrical  form, 
however,  would  not  allow  it  to  attain  any  great  suc- 
cess. Some  passages  also  from  Life's  a  Dream  ap- 
peared in  a  small,  anonymous  volume  published  in 
Edinburgh,  1830,  but  by  one  evidently  litttle  accus- 
tomed to  overcome  the  technical  difficulties  of  verse. 
I  know  not  whether  any  other  attempts  have  been 
made  to  introduce  it  to  the  English  reader ;  save,  in- 
deed, that  Mr.  Hallam  *  has  given  a  rapid  account  of 
the  play,  extending  a  certain  toleration  to  it,  and  even 
bestowing  upon  it  a  qualified  measure  of  approval. 

The  scene  opens  in  a  wild  and  savage  region  of 
Poland.  Rosaura,  in  man's  attire,  appears  descend- 
ing from  the  heights  above.  She  is  following  to  the 
court  of  Poland  Astolfo,  duke  of  Muscovy ;  who,  be- 
ing engaged  to  her,  and  she  only  too  far  to  him,  is 
now  seeking  to  wed  Estrella  his  cousin,  the  niece,  as 
he  is  the  nephew,  of  Basilius,  king  of  Poland.  The 
king  has  no  direct  heir,  and  their  rival  claims  being 
in  this  way  reconciled,  they  will  together  succeed  to 
his  throne.  She  has  lost  her  way  in  the  mountain ; 
her  horse  has  broken  from  her,  and  she  with  her  ser- 
vant Clarin,  the  g-racioso  of  the  play,  are  wandering 
at  random,  when  they  are  attracted  by  a  light  glim- 
mering in  a  cavern.  Drawing  closer,  they  hear  voices 
of  lamentation,  with  the  clank  of  chains.  Having 
advanced  too  far  to  retreat,  they  are  compelled  to 

*  Hist,  of  Literature,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  534-537. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  121 

overhear  one  who  mourns  over  a  captivity  which  has 
reached  back  to  the  hour  of  his  birth.  But  to  begin 
where  Rosaura  first  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  light. 
Mr.  Hallam  himself  observes  of  these  opening  scenes 
that  "they  are  impressive  and  full  of  beauty,  even 
now  that  we  are  become  accustomed  in  excess  to  these 
theatrical  wonders." 

ROSAURA. 

Did  ever  any  such  adventures  meet ! 

Yet  if  mine  eyesight  suffers  no  deceit, 

Which  fancy  plays  on  me, 

By  that  faint  glimmer  day  retains  I  see, 

As  I  must  needs  believe, 

A  dwelling-place. 

CLARIN. 

Me  too  my  hopes  deceive. 
Or  I  discern  the  same. 

ROSAURA. 

Amid  these  naked  rocks  the  rugged  frame 
Peers  of  a  lowly  shed. 
Timidly  rearing  toward  the  sun  its  head. 
In  such  a  rustic  style 
Shows  the  rude  masonry  of  this  wild  pile, 
That,  at  the  bottom  set 

Of  these  tall,  mountainous  summits  which  have  met 
The  sun's  great  orb  of  light, 

It  seems  a  loosened  crag,  rolled  from  the  upper  height. 

6 


122       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 
CLARIN. 

Let  US  approach  it,  then ; 

For  long  enough  we  have  gazed  upon  it,  when 

'Twere  better  we  should  try 

If  the  good  folk  within  would  generously 

Admit  us. 

ROSAURA. 

Lo !  the  door 
(Funereal  jaws  were  name  to  suit  it  more) 
Yawns,  and  the  night  forlorn 
Thence  issues,  as  in  that  deep  centre  born. 

[A  clank  of  chains  is  heard. 
CLARIN. 

Hark !  what  is  that  I  hear  ? 

ROSAURA. 

I  am  rooted  to  the  spot,  congealed  with  fear. 

CLARIN. 

Is't  not  the  clank  of  chains  ? 

Sure,  we  have  here  a  galley-slave  in  pains ! 

Well  did  my  fears  say  so. 

[SiGiSMUND  is  discovered  xoithin,  clothed  in  skins. 

siGiSMUND  (within). 
Ah,  miserable  me ! — ah,  wo,  wo,  wo ! 

ROSAURA. 

List,  what  a  doleful  cry ! 
Claxin. 


LIFE'S   A    DREAM.  123 

CLARIN. 

What  would  you,  lady  ? 

ROSAURA. 

Let  us  fly 
The  terrors  strange  of  this  enchanted  tower. 

CLARIN. 

Nay,  when  it  comes  to  this,  I  want  the  power. 

ROSAURA. 

Say,  is  not  that  a  taper. 

That  feeble  star,  that  weak  and  tremulous  vapor. 

Which,  with  its  pale  rays  crowned. 

And  shedding  ineffectual  ardors  round. 

Makes  with  a  dubious  light 

Yet  darker  this  dark  dwelling-place  of  Night  ? 

Yes ;  for  by  that  faint  gleam 

I  can  distinguish  dimly  what  would  seem 

A  prison-house  obscure. 

Which  of  a  living  corpse  is  sepulture : 

And,  to  enhance  my  fear, 

In  skins  of  beasts  a  man  doth  there  appear. 

With  fetters  fastly  tied. 

And  only  by  that  light  accompanied. 

Since  flight  would  not  avail. 

Let  us  from  this  listen  to  his  sad  tale. 

And  all  his  story  know. 


124  TRANSLATIONS   PROM   CALDERON. 

SIGISMUND. 

Ah,  miserable  me !  ah,  wo,  wo,  wo  ! 

Heavens,  why  make  ye  me  to  mourn. 

More  than  all  men  else  forlorn  ? 

If  my  birth  has  been  my  sin. 

Yet  what  sinned  I  more  herein 

Than  others,  who  were  also  bom  ? 

Born  the  bird  was,  yet  with  gay 

Gala  vesture,  beauty's  dower. 

Scarce  it  is  a  winged  flower. 

Or  a  richly-plumaged  spray. 

Ere  the  aerial  halls  of  day 

It  divideth  rapidly, 

And  no  more  will  debtor  be 

To  the  nest  it  hastes  to  quit, 

But,  with  more  soul  than  it, 

I  am  grudged  its  liberty. 

And  the  beast  was  born,  whose  skin 

Scarce  those  beauteous  spots  and  bars, 

Like  to  constellated  stars. 

Doth  from  its  great  Painter  win. 

Ere  the  instinct  doth  begin 

Of  its  fierceness  and  its  pride, 

And  its  lair  on  every  side 

It  has  measured  far  and  nigh, 

While  with  better  instinct  I 

Am  its  liberty  denied. 

Born  the  mute  fish  was  also. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  126 

Child  of  ooze  and  ocean-weed ; 
Scarce  a  finny  bark  of  speed 
To  the  surface  brought,  and  lo  ! 
In  vast  circuits  to  and  fro 
Measures  it  on  every  side 
All  the  waste  of  ocean  wide, 
Its  illimitable  home ; 
While,  with  greater  will  to  roam, 
I  that  freedom  am  denied. 
Bom  the  streamlet  was,  a  snake, 
Which  unwinds  tbe  flowers  among, 
Silver  serpent,  that  not  long 
May  to  them  sweet  music  make, 
Ere  it  quits  the  flowery  brake. 
Onward  hastening  to  the  sea 
With  majestic  course  and  free. 
Which  the  open  plains  supply ; 
While,  with  more  life  gifted,  I 
Am  denied  its  liberty.* 

Those  acquainted  with  the  construction  of  Calde- 
ron's  dramas  will  observe  that  he  is  here  true  to  his 
ordinary  plan  of  beginning  with  a  scene  which  shall 

*  Calderon  is  so  fond  of  introdacing  into  his  dramas  persons  who 
have  been  brought  up  in  absolute  solitude,  and  then  are  suddenly  cast 
upon  the  world,  and  of  dealing  with  the  effects  which  are  thus  pro- 
duced upon  them,  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  several  pas- 
sages nearly  resembling  this,  variations  in  fact  upon  it,  are  to  be  found 
in  his  other  dramas — one,  for  example,  and  a  very  beautiful  one,  in 
the  first  act  of  Echo  and  Narcissus. 


126       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

rouse  curiosity ;  and  only  when  he  may  have  thus 
secured  the  spectators'  attention,  does  he  proceed  to 
the  orderly  unfolding  of  his  plot.  An  involuntary 
exclamation  of  Rosaura's  makes  the  captive  aware  of 
the  two  that  are  so  close  to  him.  His  first  impulse, 
when  he  discovers  that  he  has  been  overheard  in  the 
hour  of  his  weakness,  is  to  destroy  the  listeners,  how- 
ever unintentional  and  unavoidable  their  listening  may 
have  been.  Rosaura  casts  herself  at  his  feet,  and  ob- 
tains his  grace.  But  this  is  hardly  so,  when  they  are 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Olotaldo,  the  most 
trusted  servant  of  the  Polish  king,  and  the  only  per- 
son acquainted  with  the  secret  of  this  prisoner's  con- 
dition, or  with  the  causes  of  his  lifelong  captivity. 
Clotaldo  summons  the  guards  of  the  tower,  and  the 
intruders  are  borne  away,  despite  of  Sigismund's  furi- 
ous remonstrance  and  the  passionate  outbreaks  of  his 
rage.  They  have  incurred  the  penalty  of  death,  pro- 
nounced against  any  who  should  approach  the  place 
where  this  prisoner  was  confined. 

We  have  in  the  next  scene  the  court  of  the  king  of 
Poland.  The  aged  monarch,  in  solemn  assembly  of 
the  chief  estates  of  the  realm,  declares  to  Astolfo  and 
to  Estrella  the  conditions  under  which  the  inheritance 
of  the  kingdom  may  devolve  on  them.  He  narrates 
at  length  his  addiction  in  former  years  to  the  science 
of  astrology ;  and  how  he  had  dived  deeply  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  future.     Though  counted  childless, 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  127 

he  too  had  once  a  son ;  but  reading  at  his  birth  his 
horoscope,  he  learned  that  this  son  should  be  fierce 
and  ungovernable  and  cruel,  and  that  he  should  him- 
self one  day  lie  prostrate  at  his  feet.  This  son,  whom 
he  has  feared  to  acknowledge,  still  lives — brought 
up  in  a  remote  tower,  with  only  Clotaldo  conscious 
of  the  secret.  But  now  the  father  is  touched  with 
remorse,  and  repents  of  the  cruelty  with  which  he  has 
sought  to  defeat  the  possible  violence  of  his  son.  He 
will  bring  him  forth,  and  make  proof  of  his  disposi- 
tion. These  prophecies  of  the  stars  do  but  announce 
the  inclination ;  they  can  not  impair  the  free  will. 
Sigismund,  for  of  course  he  and  the  captive  of  the 
first  scene  are  the  same,  may  overcome  all  the  malig- 
nant influences  of  his  stars ;  for  men  are  not  servile 
to  their  circumstances  or  their  instincts,  but  it  is  their 
higher  task  to  mould  and  fashion  and  conquer  these. 
If  he  bear  himself  well  in  his  trial,  he  shall  be  ac- 
knowledged as  an  heir ;  if  otherwise,  he  shall  be  sent 
back  to  his  dungeon,  and  Astolfo  and  Estrella  shall 
inherit  the  kingdom.  As  now  the  secret  is  a  secret 
no  longer,  and  no  motive  for  further  concealment  ex- 
ists, the  prisoners  are  easily  pardoned  ;  and  Rosaura, 
who  has  resumed  female  attire,  is  taken  into  the  train 
of  Estrella.  There  is  an  underplot  by  which  the  lat- 
ter becomes  acquainted  with  Astolfo's  previous  en- 
gagement to  Rosaura,  which,  graceful  as  it  is,  I  yet 
shall  not  touch,  as  my  purpose  is  only  with  the  more 


128       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

earnest  side  of  this  drama.  It  has  its  bearing  on  the 
ultimate  issue,  as  in  consequence  of  the  discovery, 
Estrella  breaks  ofT  her  engagement  with  the  duke. 

ACT  II. 

In  the  first  scene  of  this  act  Clotaldo  declares  to 
the  king  the  manner  in  which  he  has  carried  out  his 
purpose.  In  mercy  to  the  young  prince  it  has  been 
determined  by  his  father  that  he  shall  be  brought  to 
the  palace  while  under  the  influence  of  a  sleeping  po- 
tion ;  so  that,  should  he  prove  unworthy,  being  borne 
back  to  his  dungeon  under  the  power  of  another,  he 
may  be  persuaded  that  all  the  pomp  and  glory  with 
which  he  was  surrounded  for  a  brief  moment  was  in- 
deed only  a  dream  which  he  dreamed.  There  is 
something  fine  in  Clotaldo's  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  carried  out  this  part  of  his  monarch's  plans. 
The  passage  is  in  assonants  in  the  original,  and  there- 
fore in  the  translation.  The  assonants  employed  are 
e — e,  the  weakest,  unfortunately  of  all  our  vowels ;  but 
the  nearest  possible  approach  which  the  language  al- 
lows to  the  e — a  of  the  original. 

CLOTALDO. 

All,  as  thou  command'st  it, 
Has  been  happily  effected. 

KING. 

Say,  Clotaldo,  how  it  passed. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  '  129 

CLOTALDO. 

In  this  manner  it  succeeded. 
With  that  mildly  soothing  draught, 
Which  thou  badest  should  be  tempered 
With  confections,  mingling  there 
Of  some  herbs  the  influences, 
Whose  tyrannic  strength  and  power. 
And  whose  force  that  works  in  secret, 
So  the  reason  and  discoui'se 
Alienateth  and  suspendeth, 
That  it  leaves  the  man  who  quaffs  it 
Than  a  human  corpse  no  better, 
And  in  deep  sleep  casting  him 
Robs  him  of  his  powers  and  senses — 
With  that  potion  in  effect, 
Where  all  opiates  met  together 
In  one  draught,  to  Sigismund's 
Narrow  dungeon  I  descended. 
There  I  spoke  with  him  awhile 
Of  the  human  arts  and  letters. 
Which  the  still  and  silent  aspect 
Of  the  mountains  and  the  heavens 
Him  have  taught — that  school  divine, 
Where  he  has  been  long  a  learner, 
And  the  voices  of  the  birds 
And  the  beasts  has  apprehended. 
Then,  that  I  might  better  raise 
And  exalt  his  spirit's  temper 
6* 


180       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

To  the  enterprise  you  aim  at, 
For  my  theme  I  took  the  fleetness 
Of  a  soaring  eagle  proud, 
Which,  an  overbold  contemner 
Of  the  lower  paths  of  air, 
To  the  sphere  of  fire  ascended, 
And  like  winged  lightning  there 
Showed,  or  comet  fiery-tressed . 
Then  I  hailed  its  lofty  flight, 
Saying,  "  Thou  in  truth  art  empress 
Of  the  birds,  'tis  therefore  just 
That  thou  be  o'er  all  preferred." 
But  there  was  no  need  of  more. 
For  if  one  of  empire  speaketh 
But  a  word,  with  high-raised  pride 
Straightway  he  discoui-ses  ever ; 
For  in  truth  his  blood  excites  him. 
That  he  fain  would  be  the  attempter 
Of  great  things — and  he  exclaimed, 
"  In  yon  free  and  open  heaven 
.  Are  there  any  then  so  base 
That  to  serve  they  have  consented  ? 
Then  when  I  consider,  then 
f   My  misfortunes  solace  yield  me : 
/    For  at  least  if  I  am  subject, 
f    Such  1  am  by  force,  not  freely, 
I     Since  I  never  to  another 

Of  freewill  myself  would  render." 


LIFE'S   A    DREAM.  131 

When  I  saw  him  maddened  thus 
With  these  thoughts,  the  theme  for  ever 
Of  his  griefs,  I  pledged  him  then 
With  the  drugged  cup ;  from  the  vessel 
Scarcely  did  the  potion  pass 
To  his  bosom,  ere  he  rendered 
All  his  senses  up  to  sleep — 
Through  his  veins  and  all  his  members 
Running  such  an  icy  sweat. 
That  had  I  not  known  the  secret 
Of  his  feigned  death,  for  his  life 
I  in  verity  had  trembled. 

In  this  lethargy  he  has  been  borne  to  the  palace,  like 
those  whom  Marco  Polo  tells  of,  that  in  a  like  condi- 
tion were  carried  into  the  gardens  of  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Mountain ;  he  has  been  placed  amid  all  the  splen- 
dor and  magnificence  of  his  father's  royal  apartments  ; 
and  now  they  are  only  waiting  the  moment  of  his 
awaking.  There  are  tokens  that  this  has  arrived, 
and  that  he  is  approaching :  the  king  and  Clotaldo 
retire.  Hardly  have  they  done  so,  before  Sigismund 
enters :  servants  are  ministering  to  him,  and  he  is  full 
of  wonder  and  admiration  at  the  inexplicable  change 
which  has  come  over  him ;  but,  as  will  be  seen  pres 
ently,  justifying  all  the  provisions  in  respect  of  him ; 
as,  indeed,  the  king  his  father  had  taken  effectual 
means  that  they  should  bo  fulfilled.    The  scene,  which 


132       TRANSLATIONS  PROM  CALDERON. 

is  a  long  one,  is  yet  full  of  dramatic  spirit  and  vigor, 
and  I  will  give  its  chiefest  part. 

SIGISMUND. 

Help  me,  heaven,  what  do  I  see  ? 

Help  me,  heaven,  what  things  are  here  ? 

Filling  me  with  little  fear. 

But  with  much  perplexity  ? 

I  in  sumptuous  palaces. 

Costliest  hangings  round  me  spread, 

I  with  servants  compassed, 

Gay  and  glittering  as  these ! 

On  a  couch  so  rich  and  rare 

I  to  waken  suddenly. 

With  this  retinue  to  me 

Offering  royal  robes  to  wear ! 

Dream  to  call  it,  were  deceit, 

For  myself  awake  I  knowi. 

I  am  Sigismund — even  so. 

Heavens,  let  no  delusion  cheat 

Me,  but  say  what  this  may  be. 

That  has  overcome  me,  while 

Sleep  my  senses  did  beguile : 

IsJtjtnith_orjghanta^^ 

But  what  profit  to  debate. 

And  this  idle  coil  to  keep  ? 

Best  the  present  joy  to  reap. 

And  the  future  leave  to  fate. 


UFE'S   A   DREAM,  133 

FIRST  SERVANT. 

What  of  sadness  veils  his  brow ! 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

Who  were  not  distraught,  to  whom 
Should  arrive  such  change  of  doom  ? 

CLARIN. 

I  for  one. 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

Speak  to  him  now. 

FIRST   SERVANT. 

Wouldst  thou  they  should  sing  again  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

No,  their  singing  pleases  not. 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

As  thou  wert  so  wrapped  lq  thought. 
We  had  hoped  to  ease  thy  pain. 

SIGISMUND. 

Not  with  melodies  like  these 
I  my  sadness  can  assuage  ; 
Nothing  did  mine  ear  engage 
But  those  martial  harmonies. 


134  TBANSLATIONS  FROM   CALDEEON. 

Enter  CLOTALDO. 
CLOTALDO. 

Let  your  highness,'  mighty  lord, 
First  give  me  your  hand  to  kiss : 
I  must  not  the  honor  miss 
First  this  homage  to  afford. 

SIGISMUND. 

'T  is  Clotaldo  !  he  who  used 
In  my  tower  to  treat  me  so ; 
Doth  he  now  this  homage  show  ? 
I  am  utterly  confused ! 

CLOTALDO. 

With  the  strange  perplexity 
Growing  from  thy  new  estate, 
Unto  many  doubts  and  great 
Reason  might  exposed  be ; 
But  I  gladly  thee  would  spare. 
If  I  might,  them  all — and  so 
I  would  give  thee,  sir,  to  know 
Thou  a  prince  art,  Poland's  heir. 
And  if  until  now  thy  state 
Has  been  hidden  and  retired, 
'T  was  that  it  was  thus  required 
By  the  menaces  of  fate, 
Which  pronounced  a  thousand  woes 
To  this  empire,  if  in  it 


life's  a  dream.  136 

Should  the  sovran  laurel  sit 
Crowning  thy  imperial  brows. 
But  relying  on  thine  heed, 
That  thou  wilt  the  stars  o'ercome, 
For  not  servile  to  his  doom 
Lives  the  valiant  man  indeed, 
Thee  from  that  thy  cell  forlorn, 
While  the  might  of  deep  sleep  all 
Thy  wrapped  senses  did  enthral, 
They  have  to  this  palace  borne. 
But  thy  sire,  the  king  my  lord, 
Will  be  here  anon,  and  he 
What  is  more  will  tell  to  thee. 

SEGISMUND. 

But  thou  villain,  wretch  abhorred, 
If  I  do  mine  own  self  know, 
Know  I  not  enough  ? — what  more 
Need  I  to  be  told,  my  power 
And  my  pride  of  place  to  show  ? 
How  didst  thou  to  Poland  dare 
Act  such  treason,  in  despite 
Of  all  reason  and  all  right. 
To  me  never  to  declare 
What  my  birth  was  ? — woe  is  thee ! 
Thus  thou  didst  the  state  betray, 
Flatterer  to  thy  monarch  play. 
Cruel  tyrant  unto  me. 


136       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Thus  forj-wrongs  so  strange  and  rare 
Thee  the  state,  the  king,  and  I, 
Each  and  all  condemn  to  die 
By  my  hands. 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

Sir— 

SIGISMUND. 

Let  none  dare 
Hindrance  in  my  way  to  throw : 
'T  is  in  vain :  by  heaven,  I  say, 
If  thou  standest  in  my  way, 
From  the  window  shalt  thou  go  — 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

Fly,  Clotaldo. 

CLOTALDO. 

Woe- is  thee ! 
Sigismund,  what  pride  thou  showest, 
Nor  that  thou  art  dreaming  kn(yw£sL___ 

[Clotaldo  flies. 

SECOND  SERVANT. 

He  did  but — 

SIGISMUND. 

No  words  with  me. 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

With  the  king's  commands  comply. 


LIFE'S  A  DREAM.  137 

SIGISMUND. 

But  in  an  unrighteous  thing 
He  should  not  obey  the  king ; 
And  besides,  his  prince  am  I. 

Astolfo  enters  to  pay  his  compliments  in  a  set  speech 
to  the  prince.  Sigismund,  however,  cuts  him  short, 
and  give  him  so  haughty  and  insulting  a  reception 
that  after  some  few  angry  words  he  withdraws.  Es- 
trella  enters  on  the  same  errand,  whose  hand  he 
seizes,  and  to  whom  he  pays  such  violent  compli- 
ments, that  the  same  servant  who  was  so  forward  be- 
fore, and  who  knows  that  Astolfo  is  looking  on  at  a 
little  distance,  interferes,  and  reminds  Sigismund  that 
it  is  not  right  so  to  behave  to  the  affianced  bride  of 
another. 

SIGISMUND. 

^  *  All  this  causes  me  disgust ; 
\^^    Nothing  appears  right  to  me, 
\      Being  against  my  phantasy. 

SECOIfD  SERVANT. 

But  alone  in  what  is  just 
By  thyself  I  heard  it  said 
It  was  fitting  to  obey. 

SIGISMUND. 

And  you  also  heard  me  say 


138       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Who  in  me  displeasure  bred. 
From  the  balcony  should  go. 

SECOND   SERVANT. 

But  that  feat  with  such  a  one 
As  myself  were  scarcely  done. 

SIGISMUND. 

That  we  very  soon  will  know. 

[Seizes  him,  and  they  go  out  struggling  ;  the  rest 
follow.    Enter  Astolfo. 

ASTOLFO. 

What  do  I  to  see  arrive  ? 

ESTRELLA. 

Haste,  if  you  his  life  can  save. 

SIGISMUND  (within). 
There,  the  sea  may  be  his  grave. 

[He  re-enters. 
I  could  do  it,  as  I  live. 

Enter  the  King. 
KING. 

What  has  been  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

Not  anything. 
A  fellow  that  was  vexing  me 
I  tumbled  from  that  balcony. 


LIFE'S   A  DREAM.  139 

CLARIN. 

Be  aware  ;  it  is  the  king. 

KING. 

From  thy  coming,  oh,  my  son. 
Must  a  death  so  soon  ensue  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

But  he  said  I  could  not  do 
That  which  I  have  fairly  done. 

KING. 

Prince,  it  brings  me  sorrow  great, 
When  I  hither  did  repair. 
Thinking  to  have  found  thee  ware, 
Triumphing  o'er  stars  and  fate. 
There  has  been  such  savage  pride 
Thus  in  thy  demeanor  seen. 
That  thy  foremost  act  has  been 
A  most  grievous  homicide. 
With  what  feeling  can  I  now 
Round  thy  neck  mine  arms  entwine. 
Knowing  the  proud  folds  of  thine 
Have  been  taught  so  lately  how 
To  give  death  ?     Who,  drawing  near, 
Sees  a  dagger  on  the  ground 
Bare,  that  gave  a  mortal  wound, 
And  can  keep  from  feeling  fear  ? 
Or  who  sees  the  bloody  spot 


140       TEANSLATI0N8  FROM  CALDERON. 

Where  they  slew  another  man, 
And  to  nature's  instinct  can 
Help  replying,  shuddering  not  ? 
I  then,  who  in  thine  arms  see 
Of  this  death  the  instrument, 
And  the  spot  see,  blood-besprent, 
From  thine  arms  am  fain  to  flee, 
And  although  I  purposed 
For  thy  neck  a  fond  embrace, 
*  Will  without  it  leave  this  place, 

Having  of  thine  arms  just  dread. 

SIGISMUND. 

Well — I  can  without  it  fare. 
As  I  have  fared  imtil  now. 
For  a  father  who  to  show 
Harshness  such  as  this  could  bear. 
Me  has  like  a  wild  beast  bred, 
Driven  me  wholly  from  his  side, 
And  all  nurture  has  denied. 
Would  have  gladly  seen  me  dead. 
It  import  but  little  can 
That  he  will  not  now  bestow 
His  embrace,  who  robbed  me  so 
Of  my  being  as  a  man. 

KING. 

Oh  that  Heaven  had  thought  it  good 
I  had  ne'er  given  that  to  thee ! 


LIFE'S   A   DEEAM.  141 

Then  thy  pride  I  should  not  see, 
Should  not  mourn  thy  savage  mood. 

SIGISMUND. 

I  should  not  of  thee  complain, 

Hadst  thou  never  given  me  it, 

But  that  given,  thou  didst  think  fit 

To  resume  thy  gift  again : 

For  though  giviug  is  well  named 

Deed  that  honor  high  doth  bring,  • 

Yet  to  give  is  meanest  thing, 

When  the  gift  again  is  claimed. 

KING. 

These  then  are  thy  thanks  to  me, 
That  of  poor  and  wretched  thrall 
Thou  a  prince  art  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

What  at  all 
Owe  I  here  of  thanks  to  thee, 
0  thou  cruel  tyrant  hoar  ? 
If  thou  old  and  doting  art. 
Dying,  what  dost  thou  impart  ? — 
Aught  that  was  not  mine  before  ? 
Thou  my  father  art  and  king ; 
Then  ^th  nature's  law  to  me 
All  this  pomp  and  majesty 
By  its  ordinances  bring. 


142       TEANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Though  I  am  then  in  this  case, 
Owe  I  nothing  to  thine  hand ; 
Rather  might  account  demand 
For  the  freedom  and  due  place 
Thou  hast  robbed  me  of  till  now. 
Therefore  rather  thank  thou  me, 
That  I  reckon  not  with  thee. 
While  my  debtor  provest  thou. 

KING. 

Arrogant  and  bold  thou  art ; 

To  its  word  Heaven  sets  its  seal : 

To  the  same  Heaven  I  appeal, 

Oh  thou  proud  and  swollen  of  heart. 

Though  thyself  thou  now  dost  know. 

Counting  no  delusion  near. 

Though  thou  dost  in  place  appear 

Where  as  foremost  thou  dost  show. 

Yet  from  me  this  counsel  take 

That  thou  act  a  gentler  part. 

For  perchance  thou  dreaming  art. 

Though  thou  seemest  thus  awake.  [Exit. 

SIGISMUND. 

That  perhaps  I  dream,  although 
I  unto  myself  may  seem  r 

Waking ; — but  I  do  not  dream. 
What  I  was  and  am  I  know ; 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  143 

And  howe'er  thou  may'st  repent, 
Little  help  that  yields  thee  now ; 
Know  I  now  myself,  and  thou 
With  thy  sorrow  and  lament 
Canst  not  this  annul,  that  I 
Born  am  heir  to  Poland's  crown. 
If  before  time  I  bowed  down 
To  my  dungeon's  misery, 
'Twas  that  knowledge  I  had  none 
Of  my  state  ;  but  now  I  know 
This,  and  mine  own  self  also, 
Man  and  beast  combined  in  one. 

Presently  Rosaura  enters  in  search  of  her  mistress, 
and  finds  herself  unawares  in  Sigismund's  presence. 
They  recognise  one  another  with  a  mutual  perplexity ; 
he  is  taken  with  her  beauty,  and  in  this  language  ex- 
presses his  admiration.  I  need  hardly  observe  for 
the  understanding  the  first  compliment  of  the  prince 
that  estrella  in  Spanish  is  star. 

SIGISMUND. 

Fair  woman,  who  art  thou  ? 

EOSAURA. 

I  must  remain 
To  him  unknown ; — Sir,  in  Estrella's  train 
A  most  unhappy  maid. 


144  TRANSLATIONS  FROM   CALDERON. 

SIGISMUND. 

Not  SO — the  sun  say  rather,  by  whose  aid 

That  star  continues  bright, 

Since  from  thy  rays  it  ever  draws  its  light. 

I  in  the  kingdom  sweet, 

Where  the  fair  squadrons  of  the  garden  meet, 

The  goddess  rose  have  seen 

Elected  as  the  loveliest  for  their  queen. 

And  'mid  the  jewels  fine. 

The  rich  assemblage  sparkling  in  the  mine, 

The  diamond  ruled  as  lord. 

To  whom,  as  brightest,  empire  all  accord. 

And  in  heaven's  brilliant  court. 

Whither  the  senate  of  the  stars  resort, 

I  saw  that  Hesper  owned 

The  chiefest  station,  royally  enthroned. 

And  at  the  great  sun's  call 

Wlien  the  bright  planets  are  assembled  all. 

He  over  all  had  sway. 

And  reigned  the  lordliest  oracle  of  day. 

Then  how,  if  ever  the  most  beauteous  owns 

First  place  'mid  planets,  flowers,  and  stars,  and  stones, 

Hast  thou  obeyed  the  less, 

Who  art  in  thy  transcendent  loveliness. 

And  showing  fairest  far. 

At  once  sun,  planet,  diamond,  rose  and  star  ? 

In  a  little,  however,  Sigismund,  leaving  these  high- 


life's  a  dream.  145 

flown  compliments,  detains  her  so  rudely,  that  Clo- 
taldo,  who  has  anxiously  followed  her  into  the  prince's 
presence,  is  obliged  to  come  forward  and  interfere 
for  her  release.  The  prince,  enraged  at  the  inter- 
ruption, flings  him  at  his  feet,  and  a  second  time 
attempts  his  life.  Rosaura  runs  out,  crying  for  help, 
and  Astolfo,  sununoned  by  her  cries,  seeks  to  protect 
the  old  man,  when  Sigismund  turns  upon  him,  and 
Astolfo  is  obliged  to  draw  also  to  protect  his  life. 
The  king,  attracted  by  the  tumult,  enters,  and  again 
expostulates  with  his  son.  He  answers  upbraiding 
with  upbraiding.  Why  should  he  have  respect  to  the 
grey  hairs  of  Clotaldo,  when  those  of  his  father  shall 
lie  one  day  at  his  feet  ?  With  this  defiance  Sigismund 
goes  out.  It  is  now  acknowledged  by  all  that  noth- 
ing tan  be  done  with  him,  but  to  replace  him  in  his 
former  dungeon  once  more.  At  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity, that  is,  when  next  he  desires  to  drink,  the 
second  sleeping  potion  shall  be  given  him.  Yet  here 
let  me  pause  to  observe  that  we  should  entirely  miss 
the  true  point  of  view  from  which  it  was  the  poet's 
intention  that  we  should  regard  his  work,  if  all  our 
sympathies  were  with  the  father,  and  against  Sigis- 
mimd.  His  resentment  on  account  of  his  depriva- 
tion of  all  that  humanizing  culture  which  was  his  right 
as  a  man  was  neither  unnatural  nor  unjust,  little  as 
he  can  be  justified  in  his  manner  of  displaying  it. 
Feuerbach — not  the  atheist,  but  his  father,  an  eminent 
7 


146        TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

writer  on  criminal  jurisprudence — lias  composed  a 
memoir  on  Gaspar  Hauser,  whose  actual  history  so 
much  resembled  that  which  Calderon  has  here  ima- 
gined,* with  this  title,  Kaspar  Hauser,  Beispiel  eines 
Verbrechens  am  Seelenleben.  Such  an  offence  against 
the  higher  life  had  been  here  also  committed,  and  it 
was  only  just  that  it  should  be  avenged. 

We  must  conclude  that  what  had  been  agreed  on 
has  been  done ;  for,  in  the  next  scene,  Sigismund  is 
again  in  his  tower,  clothed  with  skins  and  fastened 
with  chains  as  before.  The  scene  is  a  noble  one :  I 
can  only  hope  that  its  beauty,  especially  that  of  its 
concluding  soliloquy,  has  not  wholly  evaporated  in 
the  process  of  emptying  from  vessel  to  vessel.  Clo- 
taldo  and  servants,  among  whom  is  Clarin,  have 
brought  him  thither. 

CLOTALDO. 

Lay  your  burden  on  this  floor, 
For  to-day  must  end  his  pride, 
Where  it  started. 

SERVANT. 

I  have  tied 
His  fetter  as  it  was  before. 

*  That  is,  supposing  the  whole  account  which  he  gave  of  himself 
was  not  an  imposture,  and  the  wound  of  which  he  died  inflicted  by 
his  own  hand.  Feuerbach,  however,  a  man  little  likely  to  be  imposed 
on,  was  convinced  of  the  truth  of  his  story. 


LIFE'S   A    DREAM.  147 

CLARIN. 

Never,  never  any  more 
Waken,  Sigismund,  to  see 
Thy  reverse  of  destiny : 
Like  a  shadow  with  no  stay. 
Like  a  flame  that  dies  away. 
Vanishing  thy  majesty ! 

CLOTALDO. 

One  who  such  moralities 
Makes,  should  never  lack  a  place 
Where  he  may  have  ample  space 
And  leisure  to  discourse  at  ease : 
This  is  he  whom  ye  must  seize — 
Let  him  here  continue  bound. 

CLARIN. 

But  me  wherefore  ? 

CLOTALDO. 

When  are  found 
Secrets  grave  to  clarion  known, 
We  guard  it  safe,  lest  they  be  blown, 
K  the  clarion  once  should  sound. 

CLARIN. 

But  me — wherefore  bind  me  thus  ? 
At  my  father's  life  did  I 
Aim  ?  or  from  that  balcony 


148  TRANSLATIONS    PROM    CALDERON. 

Did  I,  fierce  and  tyrannous, 
Fling  that  little  Icarus  ? 

[They  take  him  atoay.    Enter  the  King  disguised. 
KING. 

Clotaldo  ? 

CLOTALDO. 

Does  your  majesty 
Thus  in  this  disguise  appear  ? 

KING. 

Foolish  yearnings  draw  me  here, 
And  a  mournful  wish  to  see 
How  it  fares  (ah,  wo  is  me !) 
With  my  son. 

CLOTALDO. 

Behold  him  shorn 
Of  his  glory,  and  forlorn, 
In  his  woful  first  estate. 

KING. 

Prince,  alas,  unfortunate, 
Under  stars  malignant  born ! 
Rouse  him  from  his  lethargy. 
Now  that  all  his  strength  has  sunk 
With  the  opiate  that  he  drunk. 

CLOTALDO. 

He  is  slumbering  restlessly, 
And  he  speaks. 


UPE'S   A   DREAM.  149 

KING. 

What  dreameth  he  ? 
Let  us  listen. 

SIGISMUND  Qspeaking"  in  his  sleep). 

What  is  this  ? 
He  a  righteous  ruler  is, 
Who  the  tyrants  doth  chastise. 
By  my  hand  Clotaldo  dies, 
And  my  feet  my  sire  shall  kiss. 

CLOTALDO. 

With  my  death  he  threatens  me. 

KING. 

Me  with  outrage  and  with  wrong. 

CLOTALDO. 

He  means  my  life  shall  not  be  long. 

KING. 

Me  at  his  feet  he  means  to  see. 

SIGISMUND. 

Let  my  valor  proud  and  free 
On  the  world's  broad  stage  be  found 
With  a  peerless  glory  crowned : 
That  my  vengeance  full  may  be, 
O'er  his  sire  let  all  men  see 


150       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Triumphing  King  Sigismund !       [He  wakens. 
But,  alas !  where  am  I,  where  ? 

KING. 

Me  he  must  not  look  upon : 
Thou  wilt  do  what  needs  be  done, 
While  I  yonder  will  repair. 

[  The  King  retires. 

SIGISMUND. 

Can  it  be  then  I  that  bear. 
Prisoned  here,  this  fetter's  weight  ? 
I  in  this  forlorn  estate  ? 
Yea,  and  is  not  this  dark  room. 
Help  me,  Heaven !  my  former  tomb  ? 
I.have  dreamed  strange  things  of  late. 

CLOTALDO. 

I  must  now  my  station  take, 

And  my  part  allotted  play.  [Aside. 

It  is  time  to  wake,  I  say. 

SIGISMUND. 

Yea,  time  is  it  to^  awake. 


CLOTALDO. 

"Wilt  thou  not  this  whole  day  break 
Thy  deep  slumber  ?    Is  it  so 
That  since  I  that  eagle's  slow 


UFE'S   A   DREAM.  161 

Flight  pursued  and  path  sublime, 
Leaving  you,  that  all  this  time 
You  have  never  wakened  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

No, 

Nor  yet  now  awake  am  I ; 
For  Clotaldo,  as  it  seems, 
I  am  still  involved  in  dreams ; 
Nor  this  deem  I  erringly, 
For  if  that  I  did  espy 
Sure  and  certain,  was  a  dream. 
That  I  now  see  doth  but  seem. 

CLOTALDO. 

What  your  dream  was  might  I  know  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

I  awoke  from  sleep,  and  lo ! 
'Twas  upon  a  gorgeous  bed 
With  bright  colors  pictured, 
(Oh,  the  cruel  flattery !) 
Rich  as  that  flowered  tapestry 
Which  on  earth  the  spring  has  spread. 
Many  nobles  in  my  sight 
Humbly  bending,  gave  me  name 
Of  their  prince,  to  serve  me  came 
With  rich  jewels,  vestments  bright, 
Till  thou  changedst  to  delight 


152       TEANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

That  suspense  which  held  me  bound, 
Uttering  the  joyful  sound, 
That  though  now  I  this  way  fare, 
I  was  Poland's  rightful  heir. 

CLOTALDO. 

Welcome  good  I  must  have  found. 

SIGISMUND. 

None  so  good — I  drew  my  sword, 
Thee  a  traitor  fiercely  named, 
Twice  to  take  thy  life  I  aimed. 

CLOTALDO. 

How  should  I  be  so  abhorred  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

I  was  then  of  all  the  lord, 
And  revenge  on  all  I  sought : 
Only  a  woman  in  me  wrought 
Love,  which  was  no  dreanLl  trow, 
For  all  else  has  ended  now — 
This  alone  has  ended  not. 

[  The  King  goes  out. 

CLOTALDO. 

He  has  moved  the  king  to  weep. 

Who  has  from  his  post  retired.  \^Aside. 

Thou  wert  by  our  talk  inspired 


UFE'S   A   DREAM.  163 

/Of  that  eagle ;  thus  thy  sleep 

Did  the  same  lordly  current  keep : 

Yet  in  dreams  it  were  well  done, 

Sigismund,  to  honor  one 

Who  has  watched  and  loved  thee  so, 

Since  good  does  not  perish,  though 

It  be  wrought  in  dream  alone.  \_Exit. 

SIGISMUND. 

Truth — and  let  us  then  restrain  \ 
This  the  fierceness  of  our  pride, 
Lay  this  wilfulness  aside. 
Lest  perchance  we  dream  again : 
And  we  shall  so,  who  remain  ^ 

Li  a  world  of  wonder  thrown,  y 

Where  to  live  and  dream  are  one.    ^\ 
For  experience  tells  me  this,  J 

Each  is  dreaming  what  he  is,  / 

T\w  fiio  fiiy^ft  Tiig  dream  is  done.        / 
The  king  dreams  himself  a  king,     / 
And  in  this  conceit  he  lives, 
Lords  it,  high  commandment  gives 
Till  his  lent  applause  takes  wing, 
Death  on  light  winds  scattering, 
Or  converting  (oh,  sad  fate !) 
Into  ashes  all  his  state : 
How  can  men  so  lust  to  reign, 
When  to  waken  them  again 
7* 


lo/ 


154       TEANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

From  their  false  dream  Death  doth  wait  ? 
Xnd  the  rich  man  dreams  no  less 
'Mid  his  wealth  which  brings  more  cares  ; 
And  the  poor  man  dreams  he  bears 
All  his  want  and  wretchedness  ; 
Dreams,  whom  anxious  thoughts  oppress, 
Dreams,  who  for  high  place  contends, 
Dreams,  who  injures  and  offends ; 
And  though  none  are  rightly  ware. 
All  are  dreaming  that  they  are 
In  this  life,  until  death  ends. 
I  am  dreaming  I  lie  here. 
Laden  with  this  fetter's  weight. 
And  I  dreamed  that  I  of  late 
Did  in  fairer  sort  appear. 
( What  is  life  ?  a  frenzy  mere ; 
]  What  is  life  ?  e'en  that  we  deem ; 
\  A  conceit,  a  shadow  all, 
/  And  the  greatest  good  is  small : 
(      Nothin^Js».hiit.a,11  dnth.^em — 
'     Dreams  within  dreams,  still  we  dream ! 

The  Scene  closes. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM,  156 


ACT    III. 


"We  have  reached  the  third  and  concluding  act. 
Sooner,  perhaps,  than  Sigismund  expected,  he  is  to 
dream  again.  A  great  part  of  the  army  and  the  peo- 
ple, learning  that  there  is  a  rightful  heir  to  the  throne, 
rise  in  insurrection  against  an  arrangement  which 
should  give  the  crown  to  any  other.  They  care  noth- 
ing for  the  prophecy  of  the  stars ;  and,  finding  their 
way  to  the  place  of  Sigismund's  confinement,  burst 
into  his  dungeon,  and  demand  that  he  should  place 
himself  at  their  head,  and  conquer  for  himself  a 
throne.  His  perplexity  at  this  new  dream  which  he 
is  summoned  to  dream  is  finely  drawn  ;  but  Clotaldo's 
word  of  warning,  that  he  have  respect  to  the  awaken- 
ing, and  the  discipline  which  he  has  undergone,  have 
not  been  wholly  thrown  away.  To  their  loud  and 
tumultuous  homage — 

Long  live  Sigismund  our  king ! 
he  answers : — 

Must  I  dream  again  of  glories 

(Is  your  pleasure  so,  high  Heavens  ?) 

Oh  how  soon  to  be  dissolved ! 

Will  you  that  again  encompassed 

With  those  phantom-shapes  to  mock  me, 

I  behold  my  kingly  state 

Of  the  wind  dispersed  and  broken  ? 

Must  I  my  sad  lesson  learn  ' 


166       TEANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Once  again  i  —  again  discover 
To  what  perils  mortal  power 
Lives  its  whole  life  long  exposed  ? 
No,  it  shall  not,  shall  not  be : 
To  my  destiny  behold  me    " 
Subject  now ;  and  having  learned 
That  this  life  a  dreamisjwliolly, 
Hence  I  say,  vain  shapes^ jretending 
To  possess  a  voice  and  body, 
Cheating  my  dull  sense,  and  having 
In  good  truth  nor  one  nor  other ! 
I  desire  not  borrowed  greatness,* 
Nor  imaginary  glories, 
Pomps  fantastical,  illusions, 
With  the  faintest  breath  that  bloweth 
Of  the  light  wind  perishing : 
As  the  buds  and  bloom  disclosed 
By  the  flowering  almond-tree, 

*  These  twelve  lines  which  follow  are  so  graceful  in  the  original, 
that  I  must  needs  add  them  in  a  note : — 

"  Que  no  quiero  magestades 
Fingidas,  pompas  no  quiero 
Fantdsticas,  illusiones, 
Que  al  soplo  menos  ligero 
Del  aura  han  de  deshacerse, 
Bien  como  el  florido  almendro,  ' 
Que  por  madrugar  sus  flores 
Sin  aviso  y  sin  consejo, 
Al  primer  soplo  se  apagan, 
Marchitando  y  desluciendo 
De  sus  rosados  capillos 
Belleza,  luz  y  omamento" 


t 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  167 

With  such  timeless  haste  unfolded, 
That  the  first  breath  dims  their  brightness, 
Tarnishing  and  staining  wholly 
All  the  light  and  loveliness 
Which  its  roseate  tresses  boasted. 
Now  I  know,  I  know  ye  now. 
And  I  know  there  falls  no  other 
Lot  to  every  one  that  dreams ; 
Cheats  avail  with  me  no  longer ; 
Undeceived,  now  know  I_siii::fi]j[ 
Jife  a  dream  is  only. 


SOLDIER. 

If  thou  thinkest  we  deceive  thee, 
Turn  thine  eyes  that  way,  to  yonder 
Proud  acclivity,  and  see 
Multitudes  that  wait  to  offer 
Homage  unto  thee. 

SIGISMUND.' 

Already 
I  the  same  things  have  beholden 
Just  as  clearly  and  distinctly 
As  at  this  time  I  behold  them — 
Yet  was  it  a  dream. 

SOLDIER. 

'        Sir,  ever 
Great  events  have  sent  before  them 


158       TEANSLATIONS  FEOM  CALDEEON. 

«     Their  announcements  :  dreamt  you  this, 
It  was  surely  such  an  omen. 

SIGISMUND. 

'Tis  well  said ;  such  omen  was  it. 
Yet,  since  life  so  quickly  closes, 
Let  us,  even  though  this  as  false  is, 
Dream  once  more — this  not  forgotten, 
That  we  must  at  fittest  hour 
Wake  again,  this  brief  joy  over ; 
For  that  known,  the  undeception 
Will  not  prove  so  sad  nor  costly. 
Then,  premising  only  this, 
That  this  power,  if  true,  belongeth 
Not  to  us,  but  merely  lent  is. 
To  return  unto  its  Owner, 
■  Let  us  venture  upon  all. — 
Vassals,  my  best  thanks  acknowledge 
Your  true  fealty.     Lo !  in  mc 
One  whose  valor  and  whose  boldness 
From  a  foreign  yoke  shall  free  you. 
Sound  to  arms,  and  in  brief  moment 
Ye  my  courage  high  shall  witness : 
I  against  my  father  boldly 
Wage  this  battle,  and  the  word 
,     Will  make  true,  which  Heaven  has  spoken, 
At  my  feet  beholding  him. 
But  lest  this  my  dream  be  over. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAfil.  159 

That  not  done,  best  hold  my  peace, 
Lest  I  prove  an  empty  boaster. 

ALL. 

Long  live  Sigismund,  our  king ! 

Enter  CIOTALDO. 
CLOTALDO. 

Ha !  what  noise  ?  my  life  is  forfeit. 

SIGISMUND. 

You,  Clotaldo  ? 

CLOTALDO. 

Sire? — on  me 
Will  his  whole  wrath  fall. 

CLARIN. 

I  wonder 
If  he'll  fling  him  down  the  rocks. 

CLOTALDO. 

At  your  royal  feet  behold  me, 
That  is  to  die,  I  know. 

SIGISMUND. 

Rise,  my  father — kneel  no  longer ; 
Rise  to  be  the  guide  and  pole-star 
By  the  which  I  shape  my  projects ; 


160       TEANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

For  by  your  great  loyalty 

Was  my  helpless  childhood  fostered. 

Give  me  your  embrace. 

CLOTALDO. 

What  say  you  ? 

SIGISMUND. 

That  I  dream,  and  would  act  nobly, 
Since  well-doing  is  not  lost. 
Though  it  be  in  dreams  done  only. 

CLOTALDO. 

Then,  sir,  if  it  be  your  blazon 
To  do  well,  that  I  with  boldness 
Crave  of  you  the  same  permission, 
Can  not  for  a  fault  be  noted. 
Arms  you  wield  against  your  sire  : 
I  can  neither  counsel  offer. 
Nor  lend  aid  against  my  king. 
See  me  prostrated  before  thee : 
Kill  me,  if  thou  wilt. 

SIGISMUND. 

Ha,  villain ! 
Ingrate ! — but  'tis  need  I  govern 
And  in  meekness  rule  my  soul. 
For  his  true  estate  who  knoweth  ? 
To  your  loyalty,  Clotaldo, 


UFiyS   A   DREAM.  161 


Owe  I  envy,  praise,  and  wonder ; 
Go  and  serve  your  lord  and  king, 
We  shall  meet  in  battle  shortly. 
But  for  you,  now  sound  to  arms. 


CLOTALDO. 

My  best  thanks  this  grace  acknowledge. 

[Exit. 

SIGISMUND. 

Destiny,  we  go  to  reign ; 

Wake  I,  let  not  sleep  come  o'er  me ; 

Sleep  I,  do  not  waken  me. 

But  well-doing  most  imports  me, 

Be  it  thus  or  thus — if  truth, 

For  the  truth's  sake ;  if  the  other, 

To  win  friends  against  the  time 

When  this  fleeting  dream  is  over. 

[Thei/  go  out,  sounding  alarums. 

Presently  comes  another  struggle  with  temptation. 
Sigismund  is  advancing  against  the  capital  of  his 
father,  and  Rosaura,  at  his  approach,  flees  to  him  as 
her  champion,  who  shall  compel  her  faithless  lover  to 
do  her  right.  Along  with  the  temptation  there  goes 
also  a  new  and  deeper  confusion,  for  she  was  one  of 
the  persons  of  his  former  dream.     He  discourses  thus : 

Help  me,  Heaven,  that  I  may  learn 
From  these  doubts  to  issue  wholly, 


162       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Or  not  muse  on  them  at  all. 

Who  has  known  such  doubtful  torments  ? 

If  I  dreamt  that  majesty 

Whereof  lately  I  was  owner. 

How  doth  now  this  woman  give  me 

Of  that  time  such  certain  tokens  ? 

Then  it  was  a  truth,  no  dream ; 

But  if  truth,  which  is  another 

And  no  less  perplexity, 

How  do  my  life's  following  courses 

Name  it  dream  ?  then  so  resembling 

Unto  dreams  are  this  world's  glories, 

It  will  happen  many  times 

That  the  true  for  false  are  holden, 

And  the  false  accounted  true — 

These  so  little  from  those  other 

Differing,  that  'tis  hard  to  know 

If  what  felt  is  and  beholden 

Be  a  falsehood,  be  a  truth : 

To  the  original  the  _c^y 

So  resembles^  that  a  question 

Which  the  true  is  rises  often. 

Then  if  this  be  thus,  and  all 

Of  our  majesty  and  glory, 

Of  our  pomp,  and  pride,  and  greatness. 

Must  in  shadows  vanish  wholly. 

Let  us  hasten  to  improve 

What  is  ours,  this  present  moment. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  163 

Let  US  snatch  a  present  joy, 
While  a  dream  no  future  knoweth. 
In  my  power  Rosaura  is, 
And  my  soul  her  charms  adoreth : 
Let  me  seize,  then,  this  occasion 
Which  unto  my  feet  has  borne  her. 
This  a  dream  is  ;  then  delights 
Let  us  dream  of  for  the  moment, 
Pain  will  track  them  swiftly  after. 
But  I  do  confute  mine  own  self 
With  the  reasons  I  advance. 
If  a  dream,  an  empty  glory. 
Who  for  empty  glory  here 
Would  a  heavenly  glory  forfeit  ? 
What  past  good  is  not  a  dream  ? 
Who  has  tasted  blisses  lofty, 
And  says  not,  whenever  these  are 
In  his  memory  revolved. 
Doubtless  I  have  dreamed  it  all. 
Which  I  saw :  but  if  my  knowledge 
Tells  me  this,  and  if  desire 
Is  a  flame  that  brightly  gloweth. 
Yet  is  turned  to  dead,  cold  ashes 
By  the  wind  that  breathes  the  softest, 
Let  us,  then,  the  eternal  aim  at — 
Fame  that  no  decreases  offers. 
Blisses  that  not  ever  slumber. 
Majesty  that  ne'er  reposes. 


164       TRANSLATIONS  FROML  CALDERON. 

He  breaks  off  the  dangerous  interview,  and  bids 
sound  to  arms.  Presently  the  armies  join  battle,  and 
the  old  king  is  overthrown,  and  his  routed  army  scat- 
tered in  confused  flight.  The  poor  gracioso,  Clarin, 
has  now  a  tragic  part  assigned  to  him,  and  one  very 
characteristic  of  Calderon's  skill  in  making  all  parts 
of  his  drama  work  together  for  one  effect.  He  con- 
ceals himself  among  the  rocks,  in  a  place,  as  he  boasts^ 
of  such  entire  security,  that  no  danger  can  possibly 
find  him  out.  The  king  presently  appears,  with  As- 
tolfo  and  others,  also  flying ;  shots  are  fired  from 
behind,  and  the  poor  clown  drops  from  his  place  of 
concealment,  mortally  wounded,  at  the  king's  feet. 
To  the  question,  "  Who  is  he  ?"  he  has  strength  to 
reply  that  he  is  one  who,  seeking  to  avoid  death,  has 
Jbund  itj^  who  has  fulfilled  in  himself  that  destiny 
which  he  thought  most  certainly  to  defeat,  and  this 
by  the  very  means  which  he  took  to  defeat  it.  The 
lesson  is  not  thrown  away  upon  the  king.  The  pur- 
suers are  upon  him  and  his  company.  They  enter, 
Sigismund  and  his  troops.  After  a  momentary  at- 
tempt at  concealment, "the  king  comes  forth  from  his 
hiding-place,  throws  himself  at  his  son's  feet,  and  the 
menace  of  the  stars  is  accomplished — here,  also,  by 
the  very  means  employed  to  defeat  it.  Let  us  see 
how  Calderon  manages  this  concluding  scene : — 

SOLDIER. 

In  this  intricate  wilderness. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  165 

Somewhere  in  its  thickest  tangles, 
The  king  hides  himself. 

SIGISMUND. 

Pursue  him, 
Till  not  one  bush  has  remained 
Which  you  have  not  thoroughly  searched, 
All  its  trunks  and  all  its  branches. 

CLOTALDO. 

My,  sir ! 

KING. 

Wherefore  should  I  fly  ? 

ASTOLFO. 

Sire,  what  mean  you  ? 

KING. 

Prince,  unhand  me ! 

CLOTALDO. 

What,  sir,  would  you  ? 

KING. 

Use,  Clotaldo, 
That  sole  help  which  yet  avails  me. — 
Prince,  if  thou  art  seeking  me. 
At  thy  feet  behold  me  fallen. 
Let  the  snow  of  these  white  hairs 


166       TEANSLATIONS  FEOM  CALDERON. 

Serve  unto  thee  as  a  carpet ; 

Set  thy  foot  upon  my  neck, 

On  my  crown — my  glory  trample. 

Serve  thyself  of  me  thy  captive, 

And,  all  cares  and  cautions  baffled, 

Let  the  stars  fulfil  their  threatenings, 

Heaven  accomplish  what  is  fated. 

SIGlSMUND. 

Princes,  nobles,  court  of  Poland, 
Who  of  these  unequalled  marvels 
Are  the  witnesses,  your  prince 
Speaks  unto  you — therefore  hearken! 
That  which  is  of  Heaven  determined. 
That  which  on  its  azure  tablets 
God  has  with  his  finger  written — 
Who  those  broad  and  skiey  pages. 
Pranked  with  all  their  golden  ciphers, 
Makes  his  solemn  scroll  and  parchment  ■ 
That  doth  never  falsely  play : 
It  is  he  alone  plays  falsely. 
Who,  injuriously  to  use  them, 
Their  hid  mysteries  unravels. 
Thus  my  father,  who  is  here. 
That  he  might  escape  the  madness 
Of  my  nature,  did  for  this 
In  man's  shape  a  wild  beast  make  me, 
In  such  fashion  that  when  I, 


LIFE'S    A    DREAM.  167 

By  the  gentle  blood  that  races 
In  my  veins,  my  noble  state, 
By  such  nurture  as  became  me. 
Might,  of  good  hope,  have  approved  me 
Mild  and  docile  ;  yet  that  manner 
Of  my  wild  and  savage  rearing 
Was  alone  sufficient  amply 
To  have  brutalized  my  soul. 
Oh,  fair  way  to  shun  the  danger ! 
Were  it  to  a  man  fore-uttered, 
"  Some  inhuman  beast  will  slay  thee," 
Would  he  choose,  such  prophecy 
That  he  might  defeat,  to  waken 
Beasts  that  he  perchance  found  sleeping  ? 
Were  it  said — "  The  sword  thou  bearest 
Sheathed,  shall  prove  the  very  one 
Which  shall  be  thy  death" — 0  vainest 
Method  to  annul  the  threat, 
From  that  hour  to  bear  it  naked, 
With  its  point  against  his  bosom ! 
Were  it  said — "  The  gulfs  of  water. 
Building  silver  tombs  above  thee. 
For  thy  sepulchre  are  fated"  — 
'Twere  ill  done  to  brave  the  wild  waves, 
When  the  indignant  sea  in  anger 
Lifted  hills  of  snowy  foam. 
Mountainous  heights  of  crystal  raised. 
With  my  sire  the  same  thing  fortuned, 


168       TRANSLATIONS  FEOM  CALDERON. 

As  with  one  who  should  awaken 

The  wild  beast  that  threatened  him ; 

As  with  one  who  bared  the  dagger 

He  most  feared,  or,  to  sea-tomb 

Doomed,  the  stormiest  oceans  challenged. 

When  my  fury  might  have  proved 

Like  a  sleeping  beast  (now  hearken), 

And  my  fierceness  a  sheathed  sword, 

And  my  pride  a  tranquil  calmness, 

Yet  no  destiny  by  wrong 

Or  unrighteousness  is  baffled — 

Rather  these  do  more  provoke  it :   - 

So  that  he  who  means  to  master 

Fate,  with  gentleness  must  do  it. 

With  meek  wisdom,  not  with  harshness. 

Let  for  an  example  serve 

This  rare  spectacle,  this  strangest 

Prodigy,  most  wonderful 

Sight  of  all ;  for  what  were  stranger 

Than  to  have  arrived  to  see 

After  such  preventions  taken, 

At  my  feet  a  father  prostrate. 

In  the  dust  a  monarch  fallen  ? 

'Twas  the  sentence  of  high  Heaven, 

Which,  for  all  he  strove  to  baffle, 

Yet  he  could  not ;  and  could  I, 

Less  in  all  things,  hope  to  master. 

Less  in  valor,  and  in  years. 


LIFE'S   A   DREAM.  169 

And  in  wisdom  ?  —  0  my  father, 

Thy  hand  reach  me ;  sire,  arise : 

Now  that  Heaven  this  way  has  made  thee 

See  thou  erredst  in  the  mode 

Of  o'ercoming  it,  I  place  me 

Here,  awaiting  thy  revenge : 

On  my  neck  thy  feet  be  planted. 

He  throws  himself  at  his  father's  feet,  having  now, 
indeed,  conquered ;  for  he  has  conquered  himself.  All 
else  is  arranged  in  a  few  lines.  Astolfo  fulfils  his 
pledge  to  Rosaura,  the  prince  affectionately  embraces 
the  faithful  Clotaldo,  gives  his  own  hand  to  Estrella, 
and,  when  all  are  wondering  at  his  wisdom  and  mod- 
eration, forbids  them  to  restrain  their  admiration, 
even  if  he  should  not  waken  to  find  himself  in  his  nar- 
row dungeon  again,  yet  life  itself  is  a  dream,  which 
he  would  fain  dream  well,  that  so  a  blessed  awakening 
may  follow. 

8 


II. 

THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD. 

No  auto  of  Calderon  lias  yet  been  translated  into 
English  either  in  whole  or  in  part.  Ticknor  has  pre- 
sented, in  his  History  of  Spanish  Literature,  an  ac- 
count of  one,  The  Divine  Orpheus*  but  wholly  in 
prose ;  and  in  prose  also  The  Rambler  (December, 
1855)  has  given  a  very  fair  analysis  of  The  Poison 
and  the  Antidote.  While  I  am  fully  conscious  of  the 
difficulty  of  the  attempt,  and  the  danger  of  utter  and 
ridiculous  failure,  I  venture  here  to  offer  an  analysis 
of  one  of  them,  with  sufficient  verse  quotations  to  give 
a  somewhat  clearer  conception  of  what  they  are  than 
could  in  any  other  way  be  gained.  I  might  perhaps 
have  chosen  autos  of  Calderon  in  which  he  soars  upon 
loftier  wing ;  but  this  also  seems  to  me  to  be  admira- 
bly conceived  and  carried  out,  and  is  not. quite  so 
strange  and  startling  as  some  perhaps  might  appear. 

*  Vol.  ii.,  p.  323. 


172       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

The  title  which  it  bears,  The  Great  Theatre  of  the 
World,  will  sufl&ciently  indicate  its  subject.  The  ob- 
servation that 

"  All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players," 

has  now  become  a  commonplace,  yet  is  one  containing 
in  it  so  deep  a  moral  significance,  so  profound  a  truth, 
that  it  can  never  grow  old  or  out  of  date.  It  is  one 
to  which  Calderon  recurred  again  and  again.  Thus 
in  his  very  noble  play  To  know  Good  and  Evil,  he 
says : — 

"  En  el  teatro  del  mundo 

Todos  son  representantcs. 

Cual  hace  un  Rey  soberano, 

Cual  un  Principe,  o  un  grande, 

A  quien  obedecen  todos ; 

Y  aquel  punto,  aquel  instante 
Que  dura  el  papel,  es  dueiio 
De  todas  las  voluntades. 
Acabose  la  comedia, 

Y  como  el  papel  se  acaba, 
La  muerte  en  el  vestuario 
A  todos  los  deja  iguales." 

Nor  is  he  content  with  making  such  passing  allusions 
to  it ;  but  in  the  auto,  of  which  I  am  about  to  present 
some  specimens,  this  thought  furnishes,  as  will  be 
seen,  the  idea  on  which  he  has  wrought  throughout. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.     173 

Before  going  further  let  me  say  to  the  reader, 
above  all  in  respect  of  the  opening  scene,  that  what 
was  not  intended  profanely  or  even  over-boldly,  but 
in  strong  religious  earnestness  and  reverence,  must 
be  taken  in  no  other  sense  by  him ;  or,  if  he  is  unable 
so  to  take  it,  he  will  do  best  in  not  proceeding  any 
further.  In  the  first  scene  then  the  Author  appears 
with  a  mantle  spangled  with  stars,  and  the  triple  rays 
of  light  (potencias)  on  his  forehead.  He  summons 
the  world,  which  describes  itself  as  being  shaped  and 
moulded  under  his  creative  word ;  and  informs  it  of 
his  purpose  to  set  out  upon  it  a  great  pageant  and 
representation  for  the  display  of  his  power  and  glory. 
Men  are  to  be  his  company.  He  bids  the  world  that 
it  do  not  fail  to  provide  richly  all  things  needful  to 
enable  the  several  players  to  enact  their  allotted 
parts.  The  world  in  one  of  the  long  speeches  for 
which  Calderon  was  famous  (the  present  exceeds  two 
hundred  lines)  promises  obedience ;  that  the  proper- 
ties and  furniture  shall  not  be  wanting,  and  so  with- 
draws. And  now  the  Author  summons  his  future 
company — the  Rich  Man,  the  Beggar,  the  King,  the 
Husbandman,*  the  Lady  or  Beauty,  the  Recluse  or 
Discretion,  the  Infant,  as  by  a  necessary  prolepsis 
they  are  called,  and  distributes  to  them  their  several 

*  The  English  word  gives  exactly  the  force  of  the  Spanish  labra- 
dor ;  he  is  no  day-laborer  in  our  sense ;  for  though  he  labors  with  his 
own  hands,  it  is  also  on  his  own  ground. 


174       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

parts.  The  passage  may  well  remind  one  of  the  dis- 
tribution by  Lachesis  of  the  lots*  to  souls  in  The 
Republic  of  Plato.  The  parts  are  received  with  dif- 
ferent feelings.  Some  are  well  pleased ;  others  dis- 
appointed. The  Beggar,  for  instance,  seeing  what 
his  part  must  be,  ventures  a  remonstrance : — 

Why  must  I  be  acting  so 
Beggar  in  this  comedy  ? 
'T  will  be  tragedy  for  me, 
Albeit  for  the  others  no. 
When  on  me  you  did  bestow 
This  same  part,  bestowed  you  not 
Equal  soul  and  equal  thought 
As  on  him  who  king  will  be  ? 
Why  then  unto  him  and  me 
Such  unequal  parts  allot  ? 
Were  I  made  of  other  clay. 
Or  were  fewer  senses  mine. 
Or  a  spirit  less  divine. 
Did  my  blood  less  freely  play, 
Cause  sufficient,  one  might  say. 
Of  this  dealing  would  be  shoAvn : 
But  it  seems  too  harshly  done, 
That  I.  say  not  cruelly, 
When  no  better  man  than  I 
So  much  better  part  has  won. 


THE  GREAT   THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.  175 

AUTHOR. 

In  the  play  you  act  he  will 
As  securely  win  my  praise, 
Who  the  part  of  beggar  plays 
With  true  diligence  and  skill, 
As  who  may  the  king's  fulfil : 
Equal  too,  they  prove,  the  one 
And  other,  when  the  play  is  done. 
Well  fulfil  their  part,  and  trust 
I  shall  in  award  be  just ; 
I  will  know  of  difference  none ; 
Nor  because  more  pain  is  laid 
Upon  thee  who  beggar  art, 
Is  the  king's  a  better  part   . 
Than  the  beggar's,  if  well  played. 
One  and  other  shall  be  paid 
Freely  all  their  salary, 
When  it  once  deserved  shall  be  ; 
And  with  any  part  it  can 
Be  so  earned,  the  life  of  man 
Being  all  one  comedy. 

BEAUTY. 

Wilt  thou,  sir,  declare  abroad 
Of  this  comedy,  what  name 
Bears  it  on  the  tongue  of  fame  ? 

AUTHOR. 

Act  YOUR  "BEST,  FOR  God  is  God. 


176  TRANSLATIONS   FROM   CALDERON. 

KING. 

Of  all  errors  'twere  the  worst 
In  this  so  mysterious  play 
To  mistake. 

RICH   MAN. 

Then  every  way 
Need  is,  we  rehearse  it  first. 

DISCRETION. 

But  how  can  it  be  rehearsed, 
If  without  all  power  we  be, 
Soul  to  know  or  light  to  see. 
Till  the  time  arrives  to  play  ? 

BEGGAR. 

But  without  rehearsing,  say 
■    Can  we  act  the  comedy  ? 
In  the  oldest,  oftenest  played. 
If  it  be  not  re-essayed. 
Blunders  always  will  ensue  : 
Then,  unless  we  prove  this  new, 
Some  sad  errors  will  be  made. 

However,  life  is  a  play  which  must  be  acted  with- 
out rehearsing,  and  they  must  accept  its  necessary 
conditions.  Again,  one  of  the  company  asks  how 
they  are  to  know  the  times  of  their  entrances  and 


THE  GBEAT  THEATRE   OF  THE  WORLD.  177 

exits.  This  also,  they  are  answered,  it  needs  not  for 
them  to  know  beforehand ;  let  them  be  ready  at  any 
moment  to  close  their  parts.  He  will  summon  them 
when  it  has  reached  its  end.  But  how  if  at  any  time 
they  are  out  in  their  parts,  have  forgotten  or  erred  ? 
The  Law  of  Grace  will  act  as  prompter  to  set  them 
right.  Hereupon  they  are  going  off  to  the  theatre, 
when  the  World  meets  and  detains  them. 

WORLD. 

All  things  now  provided  stand 

To  the  end  the  comedy 

May  be  acted  worthily 

Which  for  mortal  men  is  planned. 

KING. 

Crown  and  purple  I  demand. 

WORLD. 

Why  must  crown  and  robe  be  thine  ? 

KING. 

Even  because  this  part  is  mine. 

WORLD. 

'T  is  already  furnished  here. 

•^  [Cfives  him  crown  and  purple,  and  he  goes  out 

BEAUTY. 

Unto  me  hues  bright  and  clear, 


178       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Jasmine,  rose,  and  pink  assign. 
Leaf  bj  leaf,  and  ray  by  ray, 
Emulously  let  disclose 
Day  whatever  lights  he  knows, 
And  whatever  flowers  the  May ; 
Let  with  envy  pine  away 
The  great  sun  to  look  on  me ; 
And  as  his  huge  disk  to  see, 
Evermore  the  sunflower  turns — 
Flower  that  for  my  brightness  yearns, 
Let  the  sun  my  sunflower  be. 

WORLD. 

But  how  play'st  thou  part  so  vain, 
Vaunting  to  the  "World  thy  pride  ? 

BEAUTY. 

By  this  paper  justified. 

WORLD. 

Which  ? 

BEAUTY. 

I  beauty's  part  obtain. 

WORLD. 

Let  all  tints  of  costliest  grain, 
Deepest  vermeil,  snowiest  white, 
Vary  for  thee  dark  and  light. 

[Gives  her  a  chaplet  of  flowers. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.     179 
BEAUTY. 

Round  me  richest  hues  I  shed ; 
Founts,  for  me  your  mirrors  spread, 
Flowers,  for  me  your  carpets  bright. 

[^Goes  out. 

RICH   MAN. 

Give  felicities  to  me. 
Wealth  and  all  that  wealth  can  bring ; 
For  to  taste  each  pleasant  thing 
I  am  come  the  World  to  see. 

WORLD. 

I  will  burst  my  breast  for  thee. 
And  draw  forth  to  upper  air 
All  the  hidden  treasures  rare. 
All  the  silver  and  the  gold 
Which  my  centre  doth  unfold, 
Covetously  hoarded  there. 

[  Gives  him  jewels. 

RICH  MAN. 

Proud,  elate,  and  glorious  I 

With  such  treasure  go  my  way.       [  Goes  out. 

DISCRETION. 

Place  to  live  in  I  to-day 

From  thy  hands  to  seek  am  fain. 


180  TRANSLATIONS   FROM   CALDERON. 

AVORLD. 

And  what  part  dost  thou  sustain  ? 

DISCRETION. 

Cloistered  wisdom  I  must  be. 

WORLD. 

Cloistered  wisdom,  take  from  me 
Sackcloth,  discipline,  and  prayer. 

[Gives  her  a  scourge  and  sackcloth. 
DISCRETION. 

I  this  wisdom  never  were. 

Did  I  more  accept  from  thee.  [^Goes  out. 

WORLD. 

Hast  thou  then  no  part  to  play. 
That  thou  cravest  naught  of  mine  ? 

INFANT. 

No,  I  need  not  aught  of  thine 

For  the  little  while  I  stay. 

I  shall  never  see  the  day. 

Nor  with  thee  shall  I  abide 

Longer  time  than  while  I  glide 

From  one  dark  and  prison  room 

To  another ;  and  a  tomb 

Can  not  be  of  thee  denied.  [  Goes  out. 

WORLD. 

What  dost  thou  seek,  fellow,  say  ? 


THE  GREAT  THEATEE   OF  THE   WORLD.  181 

HUSBANDMAN.- 

What  I  gladly  would  forego. 

WORLD. 

Pray,  no  more ;  your  paper  show. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

What  if  I  should  answer,  Nay  ? 

WORLD. 

From  your  mien  infer  I  may 
That  as  rude  and  clownish  hind 
You  your  bread  shall  seek  and  find. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Yes,  that  is  ray  misery. 

WORLD. 

Take  this  spade  then. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Legacy 
Adam  has  to  us  consigned ! 

[Takes  the  spade  and  goes  out. 
BEGGAR. 

Now  that  thou  hast  unto  those 
Joys  allotted,  glories,  gains. 
For  my  portion  give  me  pains, 
Give  me  sufferings  and  woes ; 
For  my  paper  nothing  knows 


182       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Of  that  kingly  majesty ; 

Those  bright  hues  comes  not  to  me ; 

Gold  nor  jewels  I  demand, 

But  rags  only  at  thy  hand. 

WORLD. 

But  what  part  may  thy  part  be  ? 

BEGGAR. 

It  is  utter  wretchedness, 

"Want  and  weariness  and  ill, 

'Tis  to  bear  and  suffer  still, 

It  is  anguish  and  distress. 

All  calamities  to  know, 

To  make  trial  of  all  wo  ; 

Importuning,  oh  harsh  task  ! 

Always  to  have  all  to  ask, 

Nothing  ever  to  bestow. 

'Tis  contempt  and  wrong  and  scorn, 

It  is  mockery  and  blame. 

It  is  insult,  it  is  shame, 

It  is  everything  forlorn ; 

Grief  that  ever  one  was  bom. 

It  is  squalor,  infamy. 

Tatters,  filth,  and  beggary, 

Want  of  all  things,  and  no  less 

Hunger,  cold,  and  nakedness  ; 

For  all  this  is  poverty. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.  183 

WORLD. 

But  I  will  not  give  thee  aught ; 

For  who  beggar  plays  with  me, 

Him  I  nothing  give  in  fee ; 

And  it  rather  is  my  thought 

Of  these  rags  to  leave  thee  naught 

On  thy  back ;  for  so  I  will, 

Being  world,  my  charge  fulfil.       \_Strips  him. 

BEGGAR. 

So  this  base  world  evermore 

Clothes  him  that  was  clothed  before, 

But  the  bare  makes  barer  still.        [  Goes  out. 

WORLD. 

Since  the  stage  is  now  supplied 
With  its  motley  company. 
For  I  there  a  monarch  see 
With  his  kingdoms  broad  and  wide, 
And  a  beauty  that  with  pride 
Of  her  charms  all  senses  awes. 
Great  men  having  great  applause. 
Clownish  hinds  and  beggars  bare, 
Or  who  in  still  cloisters  fare. 
All  brought  forward  for  this  cause 
That  the  persons  they  may  play 
Of  this  present  comedy. 
To  whom  I  a  stage  supply. 
Fit  adornments  and  array, 


184       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Robes  or  rags,  as  suit  it  may, 
Oh  look  forth,  the  pageant  see, 
Divine  Author,  which  to  thee 
Mortals  play ;  this  earthly  ball 
Let  unfold,  for  there  of  all 
That  is  done,  the  scene  must  be. 

[Two  globes  open  with  music  at  the  same  time;  in  the  one 
shall  be  a  glorious  throne,  and  on  it  the  Author  sitting ; 
in  the  other  the  representation  shall  take  place ;  this  last 
must  have  two  doors ;  on  the  one  a  cradle  painted,  on  the 
other  a  coffin. 

AUTHOR. 

Since  I  have  devised  this  play. 
That  my  greatness  may  be  shown, 
I  here  seated  on  my  throne, 
Where  it  is  eternal  day. 
Will  my  company  survey. 
Mortals,  who  your  entrance  due 
By  a  cradle  find,  and  who 
By  a  tomb  your  exit  make. 
Pains  in  all  your  acting  take. 
Your  great  Author  watches  you. 

Enter  DISCRETION  with  an  instrument,  and  sings. 

Let  praise  the  mighty  Lord  of  earth  and  sky, 

Sun,  moon,  and  host  of  heaven ; 

To  Him  be  praises  given 

From  the  fair  flowers,  the  earth's  emblazonry : 

Let  light  and  lire  their  praises  lift  on  high, 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.     185 

And  ice  and  frost  and  dew, 

Summer  and  winter  too, 

And  all  that  under  this  blue  veil  doth  lie, 

Whence  He  looks  down,  who  still 

Is  Arbiter  and  Judge  of  good  and  ill. 

AUTHOR. 

Me  no  sound  can  more  engage 
Than  the  faithful  canticle 
On  man's  lips,  which  Daniel 
Sang,  that  so  he  might  assuage 
The  Chaldean  monarch's  rage. 

The  Law  of  Grace  acts  as  prompter,  to  remind 
each  of  his  part  should  he  forget  it,  and  to  correct 
the  mistakes  which  any  may  make,  and  thus  the  play 
within  the  play  begins. 

Enter  BEAUTY  and  DISCRETION  at  the  door  of  the  cradle. 
BEAUTY. 

Come,  and  let  us  hand  in  hand 
Through  these  pleasant  meadows  roam, 
Which  are  May's  delightful  birthplace. 
Which  the  sun  woos  evermore. 

DISCRETION. 

That  to  quit  my  cell  I  never 
Wish,  thou  hast  already  known. 
Never  from  the  pleasant  bondage 
Of  my  cloister  breaking  forth. 


186       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 
BEAUTY. 

And  with  thee  must  all  things  always 
This  austere  aspect  put  on  ? 
Not  a  day  of  pleasure  ever ! 
Tell  me  for  what  end  did  God 
The  flowers  fashion,  if  the  smell 
Never  shall  the  richness  know 
Of  their  fragrant  censers  swinging  ? 
And  the  birds  why  made  He  more, 
That  with  their  delicious  music 
Float  like  winged  harps  of  gold, 
If  the  ear  is  not  to  hear  them  ? 
Why  all  tissues  smooth  and  soft, 
If  the  touch  is  not  to  crush  them 
With  a  free  delight  and  bold  ? 
Wherefore  the  delicious  fruits, 
If  it  were  not  to  afiFord 
With  their  seasonings  to  the  taste 
Gates  of  savors  manifold  ? 
Why  in  short  has  God  created 
Mountains,  valleys,  sun,  or  moon. 
If  the  eye  is  not  to  see  them  ? 
Nay,  with  reason  just  I  hold 
We  are  thankless,  not  enjoying 
All  the  rare  gifts  God  bestows. 

DISCRETION. 

To  enjoy  by  admiration 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE   OP  THE  WORLD.  187 

That  may  lawfully  be  done, 
Thanking  Him  the  while  for  all ; 
To  enjoy  their  beauties  no, 
When  we  use,  indeed  misuse,  them, 
He  their  Giver  quite  forgot. 
I  abandon  not  my  cloister, 
Having  this  religion  chose 
To  entomb  my  life,  and  thus 
That  I  am  Discretion  show. 

BEAUTY. 

I  that  I  am  Beauty,  while 

To  be  seen  and  see  I  go.  [  They  part. 

WORLD. 

Beauty  and  Discretion  have  not 
Fellowship  maintained  for  long. 

DISCRETION. 

How  shall  I  my  talent  best 
Turn  to  profit  ? 

BEAUTY. 

Make  the  most 
Of  my  beauty  how  shall  I  ? 

LAW   OF  GRACE. 

Act  your  best ;  for  God  is  God. 


188       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 
WORLD. 

Only  one  has  heard,  the  other 
Missed  the  words  the  prompter  spoke 

Others  enter,  the  Rich  Man,  the  Husbandman — every- 
thing is  characteristic,  and  managed  with  infinite 
variety  and  resource  on  the  part  of  the  poet ;  but  we 
must  pass  over  much.     Presently  the  Beggar  enters. 

BEGGAR. 

Who  among  all  living  men 

May  a  direr  misery  know 

Than  is  mine  ?  this  rugged  soil 

Is  the  softest  bed  I  own 

And  the  best ;  which  if  all  Heaven 

For  a  canopy  it  boasts, 

Lies  unsheltered,  unprotected 

From  the  heat  and  from  the  cold. 

Hunger  me  and  thirst  torment ; 

Give  me  patience,  0  my  God. 

RICH  MAN. 

How  shall  I  make  ostentation 
Best  of  all  my  wealth  ? 

BEGGAR. 

My  wo 
How  shall  I  the  best  endure  ? 

LAW   OF  GRACE. 

Doing'  well ;  for  God  is  God. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE   OP  THE   WORLD.  189 

RICH  MAN. 

Oh  how  that  voice  wearies  me. 

BEGGAR. 

Oh  how  that  voice  me  consoles. 

DISCRETION. 

To  these  gardens  comes  the  king. 

RICH   MAN. 

How  it  grieves  my  haughty  soul 
To  do  homage  here. 

BEAUTY. 

Myself 
I  will  place  the  king  before, 
To  make  trial  if  my  beauty 
Him  may  in  its  nets  enfold. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

I  will  place  myself  behind  him, 
Lest  he  see  me,  and  impose 
Some  new  tax  upon  the  peasant : 
I  expect  no  favor  more. 

Enter  the  KING. 
KING. 

Of  whate'er  the  sun  illumines, 
Of  whate'er  the  sea  enfolds, 


190  TRANSLATIONS   FROM   CALDERON. 

I  am  master  absolute, 
I  am  the  undoubted  lord. 
Vassals  of  my  sceptre  all 
Bow  themselves  where'er  I  go. 
"What  do  /  need  in  the  world  ? 

LAW   OP  GRACE. 

To  do  ivell ;  for  God  is  God. 

WORLD. 

She  to  each  and  all  in  turn 

Still  the  best  suggests  and  prompts. 

BEGGAR. 

From  my  depth  of  desolation 
I  unhappy  must  behold 
Blisses,  which  are  all  for  others. 
Thus  the  king,  the  supreme  lord, 
Glories  in  his  regal  state,    - 
Nor  the  want  remembers  once 
That  I  feel :  thus  too  the  lady, 
On  her  charms  attent  alone. 
Knows  not,  guesses  not,  if  anguish 
In  the  world  is,  want  or  wo. 
The  recluse,  who  unto  prayer 
Is  addicted  evermore, 
If  she  serve  God  well,  at  least 
With  some  comfort  serveth  God. 
Nay,  the  husbandman,  when  weary 


THE   GREAT   THEATRE  OP  THE   WORLD.  191 

He  returns  from  labor  home, 
Finds  a  decent  board  prepared  hira, 
If  it  be  no  sumptuous  board. 
To  the  rich  man  all  abounds  ; 
And  in  all  the  world  alone 
Must  I  stand  in  need  of  all. 
Therefore  I  to  all  approach, 
For  without  me  they  can  well 
Live,  but  I  without  them  no. 
Of  the  lady  I  will  venture 
First  to  ask. — For  love  of  God, 
Give  an  alms ! 

BEAUTY. 

Ye  crystal  streams, 
Which  my  mirrors  are,  report 
What  adornments  best  become  me — 
How  my  tresses  seemliest  flow. 

BEGGAR. 

Dost  thou  not  perceive  me  ? 

WORLD. 

Fool! 
Seest  thou  not  thy  pains  are  lost  ? 
How  should  she  remember  thee, 
Who  her  own  self  has  forgot  ? 

BEGGAR. 

Since  thy  wealth  exceeds  all  measure, 
On  my  needs  an  alms  bestow. 


192  TBANSLATIONS   FROM   CALDEEON. 

RICH   MAN. 

Are  there,  tlien,  uo  gates  to  knock  at  ? 

Enterest  thou  my  presence  so  ? 

But  thou  mightst  at  least  have  called, 

Fellow,  at  the  outer  door, 

Nor  have  pushed  in  boldly  here ! 

BEGGAR. 

Do  not  so  much  harshness  show. 

RICH  MAN. 

You  are  troublesome — away! 

BEGGAR. 

Will  he  not  one  alms  afford. 
Who  so  much  has  prodigally 
On  his  pleasures  lavished  ? 


No! 


RICH  MAN. 
WORLD. 

Dives  here  and  Lazarus 
Of  the  parable  behold ! 

BEGGAR. 

Since  my  want  and  extreme  need 
No  respect  nor  reason  own, 
I  will  sue  the  king  himself : 
Sire,  on  me  an  alms  bestow. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.  193 

KING. 

A  lord-almoner  for  this 

I  have  named.    What  can  I  more  ? 

WORLD.     . 
With  his  ministers  the  king 
Lulls  his  conscience  to  repose. 

BEGGAR. 

Husbandman,  since  thou  receivest, 
Through  the  blessing  of  the  Lord, 
For  each  grain  to  earth  committed 
Such  an  increase  manifold, 
My  necessity  from  thee 
Craves  an  alms. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

'Tis  at  the  cost 
Of  good  sowing,  ploughing,  sweating. 
If  I  such  receive  of  God. 
Tell  me,  are  you  not  ashamed, 
A  huge  fellow,  tall  and  strong. 
This  way  begging  ?     Work,  I  say  ; 
Live  not  idle  like  a  rogue ! 
If  indeed  to  eat  you  have  not, 
Take  this  mattock,  then,  and  go — 
You  may  earn  your  bread  with  it. 

BEGGAR. 

In  the  play  we  act  belongs 
9 


194       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Unto  me  the  poor  man's  part, 
But  the  husbandman's  not  so. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Friend,  be  thy  part  what  it  may. 
Thee  the  Author  never  told 
To  enact  the  sturdy  beggar. 
Toil,  and  sweat,  and  labor  strong, 
These  the  poor  man's  proper  part  are. 

BEGGAR. 

Be  it  for  the  love  of  God : 
You  are  rigorous,  my  brother. 

HUSBANDMAN, 

Shameless  you  and  overbold. 

BEGGAR. 

Give  me  thou  some  consolation. 

DISCRETION. 

Pardon  that  it  is  not  more. 

We  pass  over  a  little  in  which  the  diflFerent  parts 
are  further  brought  out,  and  resume.  The  king  makes 
a  suggestion : — 

Seeing  that  this  life  of  ours 
Is  a  play  and  nothing  more. 
And  that  we  are  all  together 


THE   GREAT  THEATRE  OP   THE   WORLD.  195 

Travelling  the  self-same  road, 
Let  its  present  smootliness  lead  us 
Fellowship  in  talk  to  hold. 

DISCRETION. 

World  this  were  not,  if  it  did  not 
So  much  fellowship  afford. 

RICH  MAN.. 

Let  each  tell  by  turns  a  story. 

DISCRETION. 

That  were  wearisome  and  long : 
It  were  better  each  in  order 
Should  his  inmost  thought  unfold. 

KING. 

I  gaze  upon  my  kingdoms  far  and  nigh, 

The  pomp,  the  pride,  the  glory  that  I  own, 

In  whose  variety  has  Nature  shown ' 

Her  patience  and  her  prodigality. 

Towers  I  possess  built  up  unto  the  sky. 

And  Beauty  is  a  vassal  at  my  feet ; 

Alike  before  me,  as  my  servants,  meet 

Whatever  is  elsewhere  of  low  or  high, 

A  monster  of  so  many  necks,  so  strong, 

So  violent  that  I  may  wiselier  rule. 

Grant  me  what  lore  to  monarchs  should  belong, 

Lead  and  instruct  me.  Heavens,  in  wisdom's  school ; 


196       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

For  never  with  one  yoke,  to  all  applied, 
May  be  subdued  so  many  necks  of  pride. 

WORLD. 

He  that  he  may  govern  rightly 
Wisdom  asks,  like  Solomon. 

[A  sad  Voice  from  within  sings,  on  the  side  at  which  is 
the  door  of  the  coffin. 

Monarch  of  this  fleeting  realm, 
Give  thy  pomp,  thy  glory  o'er ; 
For  on  this  world's  theatre 
Thou  shalt  play  the  king  no  more. 

KING. 

Speaks  a  sad  voice  in  mine  ear 
That  the  part  I  play  is  o'er — 
Voice  which  leaves  me,  at  the  hearing, 
Without  reason  or  discourse. 
Then  will  I,  my  part  concluded, 
♦       Quit  the  scene.     But  whither  go  ? 
For  to  that  first  portal,  where 
I  my  cradle  did  behold. 
Thither,  ah !  return  I  can  not. 
Wo  is  us ! — oh,  rigorous  doom ! 
That  we  can  not  toward  the  cradle 
Make  one  step,  but  toward  the  tomb 
Each  must  bring  us  nearer,  nearer ; 
That  the  river,  ocean-born. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.     197 

From  the  sea  drawn  up,  returning 

Thither,  may  be  sea  once  more  ; 

That  the  rivulet,  derived 

From  the  river,  may  restore 

What  it  drew  from  thence,  again 

Being  what  it  was  before ; 

But  that  man  what  once  he  has  been 

Never  can  be  any  more ! 

If  my  part  has  reached  its  ending, 

Mighty  Author,  sovereign  Lord, 

Its  innumerable  errors 

Pardon,  which  at  heart  I  mourn. 

[He  goes  out  at  the  door  of  the  coffin,  as  do  all  the  others 
in  their  turn. 

WORLD. 

Well  the  king  his  part  has  ended. 
With  repentance  at  the  close. 

BEAUTY. 

From  the  circle  of  his  vassals, 
Pomp  and  glory  of  his  court, 
Pails  the  king. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

So  spring  showers  fail  not 
At  the  due  time  for  our  corn : 
With  good  crops,  and  without  king, 
We  shall  not  have  much  to  mourn. 


198  TEANSLATIONS   FROM   CALDERON. 

DISCRETION. 

Yet  withal  it  is  great  pity — 

BEAUTY. 

And  a  matter  to  deplore. 
What  shall  we  do  now  ? 

RICH   MAN. 

Return 
To  the  talk  we  held  before  : 
Say  what  in  thy  thought  is  passing. 

BEAUTY. 

This  is  passing  in  my  thought  — 

WORLD. 

But  the  living  for  the  dead 
Take  not  long  to  be  consoled. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

And,  above  all,  when  the  dead 
Leave  behind  them  ample  store. 

BEAUTY. 

I  gaze  upon  my  beauty  bright  and  pure, 

Nor  grudge  the  king,  nor  to  his  pomps  incline ; 

For  a  more  glorious  empery  mine. 

Even  that  which  beauty  doth  to  me  assure ; 

For  if  the  king  the  bondage  may  secure 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.     199 

Of  bodies,  I  of  souls.     I  then  define 
With  right  my  kingdom  as  the  most  divine, 
Since  souls  can  Beauty  to  her  sway  allure. 
A  little  world  by  sages  man  has  been 
Called ;  but  dominion  if  o'er  him  I  claim, 
Since  every  world  contains  an  earth  and  heaven, 
I  may  presume,  nor  thus  should  overween, 
Who  gave  to  man  of  little  world  the  name, 
Of  little  heaven  to  woman  would  have  given. 

WORLD. 

She  remembers  not  the  saying 

Of  Ezekiel,  when  he  showed 

How  through  pride  was  perfect  beauty 

To  corruption  foul  resolved. 

The  Voice  sings. 

All  the  beauty  of  the  world 
Is  a  flower  of  hastiest  doom ; 
Let  it  fail,  then ;  for  the  night 
Of  its  little  day  is  come. 

BEAUTY. 

Let  all  earthly  beauty  fail. 
So  has  sung  a  mournful  song : 
Let  it  fail  not ;  but,  returning, 
Wear  the  grace  that  first  it  wore. 
But,  ah  me  !  there  is,  alas ! 


200       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Neither  white  nor  ruddy  rose, 
Wliich  has  to  the  flattering  day 
And  the  wooing  sun  unrolled 
The  rich  beauty  of  its  leaflets, 
But  must  wither ;  there  is  known 
Never  one  to  hide  itself 
In  its  green  bud  any  more.* 
But  what  matters  that  the  flower, 
Short-lived  glory  of  the  morn. 
Fade  and  fail  beneath  the  kisses 
Of  the  great  and  golden  orb  ? 
What  comparison  with  me 
Can  perchance  a  brief  flower  hold, 
In  whose  being  life  and  death. 
Scarcely  sundered,  dwell  next  door  ? 
None,  for  that  fair  flower  am  I, 
Destined  to  endure  so  long. 
That  the  sun  who  saw  my  rising 
Shall  my  setting  ne'er  behold  ? 
If  eternal,  how  can  I 
Ever  fail  ?    O  Yoice,  resolve ! 

*  I  must  quote  these  eight  lines  in  the  original  for  their  exquisite 
beauty : — 

"  Mas  ay  de  mi  !"que  no  hay  rosa 
De  bianco  6  roxo  color, 
Que  A  las  lisonjas  del  dia, 
Que  a  los  alhagos  del  sol 
Saque  a  deshojar  sus  hojas, 
Que  no  caduque,  pues  no 
Vuelve  ninguna  k  cubrirse 
Deutro  del  verde  boton." 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.     201 

The  Voice  sings. 

Mortal  flower  in  body  thou, 
Though  eternal  in  the  soul. 

BEAUTY. 

There  is  no  reply  to  render 

Unto  this  distinction  more. 

Forth  from  yonder  cradle  came  I, 

And  toward  this  tomb  I  go. 

Much  it  grieves  me  that  my  part 

Has  no  better  been  performed.         [  Goes  out. 

WORLD. 

She  her  part  has  finished  well, 
With  repentance  at  the  close. 

RICH  MAN, 

From  amid  her  gala  pride, 
Ornaments,  and  glorious  shows, 
Beauty  fails. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

So  bread  and  wine 
Fail  not,  nor  our  Easter  pork. 
Beauty  without  very  much 
Of  regret  from  me  may  go. 

DISCRETION. 

Yet  'tis  a  sad  thought  withal — 
9* 


202       TRANSLATIONS  PROM  CALDERON. 
BEGGAR. 

And  it  well  might  make  us  mourn. 
What  shall  we  do  now  ? 

RICH   MAN. 

Return 
To  the  talk  we  held  before. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

When  I  mark  the  care  immense 
Which  I  give  my  business  here, 
While  nor  summer's  heat  I  fear, 
Nor  the  winter's  cold  intense, 
And  then  mark  the  negligence 
In  the  soul's  work  by  me  shown, 
O'er  this  lukewarmness  I  groan. 
This  ingratitude  bemoan, 
•  Rendering  thanks  unto  the  field. 
Which  the  crop  doth  only  yield. 
But  to  God  who  sent  it,  none. 

WORLD. 

He  is  near  to  gratitude, 
Who  himself  a  debtor  owns. 

BEGGAR. 

To  this  laborer  I  incline, 
Though  he  chided  me  before. 


THE  CHEAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.     203 

The  Voice  sings. 

Husbandman,  of  all  thy  toil 
Has  arrived  the  fatal  close ; 
Thou  must  till  another  soil — 
What  that  is,  God  only  knows ! 

HUSBANDMAN. 

If  my  part  fulfilled  I  have  not 

"With  the  care  and  pains  I  owed, 

I  am  grieved  that  I  am  grieved  not 

That  my  sorrow  is  not  more.  [  Goes  out. 

EICH   MAN. 

From. among  his  ploughs  and  mattocks, 
Sweat,  and  dust,  and  labor,  lo ! 
Disappears  the  husbandman. 

BEGGAR. 

And  has  left  us  here  to  mourn, 

DISCRETION. 

What  shall  we  do  now  ? 

RICH  MAN. 

Return 
To  the  talk  we  held  before. 
J,  then,  in  the  rear  of  others, 
What  is  in  my  mind  will  show. 
Who  that  lives  were  not  dismayed 


204       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

To  observe  our  life  a  flower, 
Springing  with  the  morning  hour, 
Drooping  with  the  evening  shade  ? 
If  it,  then,  so  soon  must  fade. 
Let  us  enjoy  merrily 
The  brief  moments  as  they  fly : 
Let  us  eat  and  drink  to-day. 
All  our  appetites  obey, 
Since  to-morrow  we  must  die. 

WORLD. 

That  the  proposition  is. 

Which  the  Gentiles  have  put  forth ; 

As  Isaiah  saith. 

BEGGAR. 

My  turn 
Follows  now,  my  mind  to  show. 
Would  the  day  might  perish  quite. 
Day  when  me  my  mother  bore — 
Perish  utterly  the  night. 
When  I  was  conceived  before 
For  this  wo  and  undelight ! 
Never  let  the  daylight  pure 
Bid  that  darkness  to  have  done  ; 
Ever  let  that  night  endure : 
Let  it  look  for  light,  and  none 
Find  of  moon,  or  stars,  or  sun, 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.     205 

Lord,  if  I  in  this  way  moum, 
'Tis  no  utterance  of  despair 
At  my  sad  estate  forlorn, 
But  my  lamentations  are 
That  in  sin  I  have  been  born. 

WORLD. 

Semblance  of  despair  his  passion 
Wears,  but  yet  it  means  not  so : 
He  his  birthday  cursing,  curses 
His  birth-sin,  as  Job  before. 

The  Voice  sings. 

Its  appointed  time  had  joy, 
Sorrow  its  appointed  close : 
To  your  reckoning  come  alike, 
From  those  blisses,  and  these  woes. 

RICH  MAN. 

Wo  is  me ! 

BEGGAR. 

What  joyful  tidings ! 

RICH  MAN. 

And  dost  thou  no  shudderings  own 
At  that  voice  which  called  thee  ? 

BEGGAR. 

Yes. 


206       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 
RICH  MAN. 

TMnkst  thou  not  to  flee,  then  ? 

BEGGAR. 

No! 
That  I  shudder  at  this  summons 
"Was  but  natural  to  the  soul 
Of  a  man,  who,  being  man. 
Must  have  awful  thoughts  of  God. 
But  why  flee,  when  flight  avails  not  ? 
For  if  Power  found  no  resource 
Fleeing  to  its  haughty  fortress. 
Nor  yet  Beauty  to  her  boasts. 
Where  should  Poverty  escape  ? 
Rather  thousand  thanks  I  owe, 
For  if  now  my  life  has  ending. 
With  my  life  will  end  my  woes. 

RICH  MAN. 

But  to  quit  the  theatre 

How  is  it  thou  dost  not  mourn  ? 

BEGGAR. 

While  I  leave  no  good  thing  in  it ; 
Of  my  own  free  will  I  go. 

RICH  MAN. 

Most  reluctant  I,  whose  heart  ' 
Tarries  with  its  worldly  store. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE   OP  THE  WORLD.  207 

BEGGAR. 


What  delight 


I 

RICH  MAN. 

What  misery ! 

BEGGAR. 

What  sweet  comfort ! 

RICH  MAN. 

What  sharp  wo ! 

[  They  go  out. 

WORLD. 

In  their  deaths  how  different 

Have  the  rich  and  poor  man  showed ! 

DISCRETION. 


In  effect  upon  the  stage 
I  am  tarrying  now  alone. 

WORLD. 

That  which  longest  with  me  tarries 
Is  Religion  evermore. 

DISCRETION. 

Though  she  can  not  have  an  end, 
Yet  can  I,  who  her  am  not 
In  her  essence,  but  one  rather 
Who  this  better  portion  chose. 


208       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

And  or  e'er  the  summons  finds  me, 
I  the  summons  go  before 
Of  the  grave,  who  in  my  life 
Have  entombed  myself,  and  so 
Give  an  end  to  this  day's  play. 
You  who  may  the  errors  note 
Of  to-day,  have  care  to  mend  them. 
When  arrives  to-morrow's  show. 

The  stage  is  left  empty ;  the  brief  play  of  life  has 
ended ;  and  now  the  World  enters  to  recover  from 
each  the  properties  with  which  he  furnished  them 
during  the  period  of  their  acting,  but  which  now  are 
theirs  no  longer.  The  scene  which  follows,  and  which 
strikes  me  as  a  very  fine  one,  will  remind  the  classical 
scholar  of  one  of  Lucian's  Dialogues  of  the  Dead^ 
greatly  as  the  Christian  poet  excels  the  scoffer  of 
Samosata,  not  merely  in  moral  earnestness,  which  is 
of  course,  but  also  in  all  his  subordinate  details  as 
well.  The  ottava  rima  in  which  it  is  composed  is  not 
of  unfrequent  use  in  the  statelier  and  more  solemn 
parts  of  Calderon's  plays. 

WORLD. 

The  play  was  short — but  what  time  with  the  play 
Of  this  life  did  it  otherwise  befall. 
Which  in  an  entrance  and  an  exit  may, 
Rightly  considered,  be  included  all  ? 
Now  from  the  stage  are  turning  all  away, 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.  209 

Their  form,  and  all  which  they  their  own  did  call, 

Being  brought  back  to  its  materials  just ; 

Dust  they  shall  quit  me,  as  they  entered  dust. 

From  all  I  will  recover  now  with  care 

The  toys  I  lent  them,  furnishing  each  one 

While  they  their  parts  on  life's  stage  acting  were, 

Theirs  only  till  the  comedy  was  done. 

Here  to  this  portal  will  I  now  repair. 

And  overpass  my  threshold  there  shall  none, 

Till  he  restore  the  things  he  had  in  trust : 

Dust  they  shall  quit  me,  as  they  entered  dust ! 

Enter  the  KING. 

Say  what  the  part  that  was  sustained  by  thee. 
Being  the  first  who  to  my  hands  art  brought  ? 

KING. 

But  has  the  world  so  soon  forgotten  me  ? 

WORLD. 

Of  what  has  been  the  world  remembers  naught. 

KING. 

I  am  that  one  who  held  all  realms  in  fee  ; 
That  of  the  sun  a  golden  light  have  caught 
From  his  first  waking  in  the  lap  of  mom, 
Till  in  the  arms  of  night  he  sinks  forlorn. 
I  ruled,  I  judged,  I  guided  many  a  land ; 


210       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

I  found,  I  won,  I  left  a  glorious  name  ; 

Great  cares  I  entertained,  great  projects  planned ; 

I  fought,  and  victory  to  my  banners  came  ; 

I  lifted  whom  I  would  to  high  command  ; 

Rare  matter  I  bequeathed  for  after-fame  ; 

And  under  gorgeous  canopies  I  sate, 

And  thrones  and  crowns  were  mine  and  sceptred  state. 

WORLD. 

Well,  leave,  let  go,  and  put  this  crown  aside ; 
Strip  off,  renounce,  forget  that  dignity ; 
Let  thy  poor  person  unaccompanied 
Make  from  life's  farce  its  exit  nakedly. 
The  purple  which  thou  boastest  of  in  pride 
Soon  by  another  shall  invested  be, 
For  from  my  harsh  grasp  thou  wilt  seek  in  vain 
Crown,  sceptre,  laurel,  purple,  to  detain. 

KING. 

Didst  thou  not  give  me  that  loved  ornament  ? 
Then  what  thou  gavest  wilt  thou  take  away  ? 

WORLD. 

Ay,  for  it  was  not  given,  but  merely  lent. 
And  for  the  time  thou  hadst  a  part  to  play. 
Thy  trappings,  to  another  to  present, 
I  now  require,  and  all  thy  rich  array. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.     211 

KING. 

But  how  of  wealthy  seekest  thou  the  name, 

With  naught  to  give,  but  what  thou  first  must  claim  ? 

What  profit  shall  I,  after  all,  have  won. 

That  to  the  world  I  have  enacted  king  ? 

WORLD. 

According  as  'twas  well  or  badly  done, 

'T  will  praise  or  blame  from  the  great  Author  bring. 

Me  it  concerns  not ;  knowledge  take  I  none 

What  pains  were  thine,  thy  part  accomplishing : 

My  task  is  only  this  array  to  claim. 

For  naked  they  must  go,  who  naked  came. 

Enter  BEAUTY. 

And  what  was  thy  part  ? 

BEAUTY. 

Beauty's  perfect  bloom. 

WORLD. 


WhaJ  lent  I  thee  ? 


Where  is  it,  then  ? 


BEAUTY. 

A  faultless  loveliness. 

WORLD. 
BEAUTY. 

Behind  me  in  the  tomb ! 


212       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 
WORLD. 

Here  Nature  can  not  her  sharp  grief  repress, 
Seeing  how  short  is  Beauty's  earthly  doom, 
Still  growing  worse  than  what  it  was,  and  less ; 
I,  seeking  to  reclaim  it,  seek  in  vain ; 
Thou  tak'st  it  hot,  nor  I  with  it  remain. 
The  king  has  left  his  majesty  with  me  ; 
Greatness  with  me  will  leave  its  proud  attire  ; 
Beauty  alone  recovered  can  not  be. 
Since  Beauty  with  its  owner  doth  expire. 
Look  in  this  glass. 

BEAUTY. 

Myself  therein  I  see. 

WORLD. 

Where  is  the  fair  face  all  did  once  admire  ? 
That  which  I  lent  thee  do  thou  now  return. 

BEAUTY. 

It  all  has  mouldered  in  the  funereal  urn ! 
There  left  I  all  sweet  colors  and  bright  hues  ;* 
Jasmines  and  corals  I  abandoned  there ; 
There  did  I  all  my  flowers,  my  roses  lose, 
And  crystals  there  and  ivory  shattered  were ; 
And  that  did  all  clear  portraitures  confuse. 
And  tarnished  all  clear  lines  and  features  fair ; 
There  was  eclipsed  the  brightness  of  my  light ; 
There  you  will  meet  but  darkness,  dust,  and  night ! 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.  213 

Enter  the  HUSBANDMAN. 
WORLD. 

You,  villain,  what  did  you  play  ? 

HUSBANDMAN. 

I  was  fain 
To  play  the  villain — start  not  at  the  name ; 
How  should  I  else,  seeing  your  fashion  vain 
Must  for  the  husbandman  thi§  title  frame  ? 
He  am  I,  whom  the  courtier  with  disdain 
Treats  evermore  with  words  of  scorn  and  shame ; 
He  am  I,  though  this  little  grieves  me  now, 
For  whom  the  world  had  still  its  "  thee"  and  "  thou." 

WORLD. 

Quit  what  I  gave  thee. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

What  was  that,  I  pray  ? 

WORLD. 

A  spade  I  gave  thee. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Oh,  fine  implement ! 

WORLD. 

Well,  good  or  bad,  with  that  you  paid  your  way. 


214  TRANSLATIONS   FROM   CALDERON. 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Whose  heart  were  not  for  very  anger  rent  ? 
Why,  what  a  cursed  world  is  this,  I  say ! 
Of  all  which  avarice  is  on  hoarding  bent, 
A  mattock,  instrument  of  wholesome  toil. 
One  can  not  rescue  from  the  general  spoil. 

Enter  the  RICH  MAN  and  the  BEGGAR. 
WORLD. 

Who  passes  ? 

RICH   MAN. 

One  who  wishes  he  might  ne'er 
Have  left  thee. 

BEGGAR. 

One  who  panted  every  day 
To  leave  thee. 

WORLD. 

But  whence  springs  this  difference  rare  ? 
One  grieves  to  quit  me,  one  had  grieved  to  stay. 

RICH  MAN. 

Because  that  I  was  rich  and  mighty  there. 

BEGGAR. 

Because  I  had  the  beggar's  part  to  play. 

WORLD. 

Let  go  these  toys. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OP  THE  WORLD.     215 
BEGGAR. 

Lo !  what  good  cause  was  mine, 
Leaving  the  world  to  mourn  not,  nor  repine ! 

Enter  the  INTANT. 
WORLD. 

To  you  a  part  at  first  the  Author  gave : 
That  you  appeared  not,  how  did  it  befall  ? 

INFANT. 

My  life  you  re-demanded  in  a  grave ; 

What  you  had  given  me,  there  returned  I  all. 

Enter  DISCRETION. 
WORLD. 

You,  what  did  you  for  your  adornment  crave, 
When  you  did  at  the  gates  of  being  call  ? 

DISCRETION. 

I  asked  for  a  strict  vow,  obedience, 

A  scourge,  a  cord,  and  rigid  abstinence. 

WORLD. 

Well,  leave  them  in  my  hands,  that  none  may  say 
They  have  delivered  anything  from  me. 

DISCRETION. 

I  will  not ;  prayers  and  good  works  do  not  stay 
In  this  world,  can  not  here  detained  bo ; 


216       TRANSLATIONS  PROM  CALDERON. 

And  with  me  I  must  carry  them  away, 
That  something  may  survive  thyself  in  thee. 
Thou,  if  thy  mind  is,  to  resume  them  strive. 

WORLD. 

Thee  of  thy  good  deeds  I  can  not  deprive  : 
These  only  from  the  world  have  rescued  been. 

KING. 

Who  would  not  now  no  realms  have  called  his  own ! 

BEAUTY. 

Who  would  not  now  have  ne'er  been  Beauty's  queen  ! 

RICH  MAN. 

Who  would  not  fain  have  no  such  riches  known ! 

BEGGAR. 

Who  would  not  willingly  more  griefs  have  seen ! 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Who  would  not  more  of  toil  have  undergone ! 

WORLD. 

It  is  too  late — for  after  death  in  vain 
You  seek  to  blot  out  sins,  or  merits  gain. 
But  now  that  I  have  marred  the  beauteous  brow. 
And  the  lent  trappings  mine  again  have  made, 
That  I  have  caused  all  haughtiness  to  bow. 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE   OF   THE   WORLD.  217 

That  1  have  equalled  sceptre  and  rude  spade, 
Unto  the  stage  of  truth  I  send  you  now  ; 
On  this  one  only  fictions  have  been  played. 

KING. 

But  why  dost  thou  so  rudely  us  dismiss, 
Who  greetedst  us  so  fair  ? 

WORLD. 

The  cause  is  this : 
What  time  a  man  doth  anything  expect, 
Waiting  the  gift  his  hands  he  places  so ; 
Which  thing  when  he  would  scornfully  reject, 
With  hands  in  this  wise  he  will  from  him  throw : 
Even  thus  the  cradle  for  a  man  is  decked 
With  mouth  above ;  reverse  its  mouth,  and  lo ! 
You  have  his  tomb :  even  thus  I  gave  you  room 
As  cradle  then,  but  now  dismiss  as  tomb. 

Let  me  take  the  opportunity  which  these  last  words 
suggest  of  adding  something  here,  which  will  not  be 
altogether  out  of  its  place.  There  is  no  surer  mark 
of  genius  than  the  recognition  of  the  mystery  which 
so  often  lies  in  the  common  and  the  familiar.  Only 
genius  pierces  or  lifts  the  veil  which  custom  and  use 
have  for  most  men  so  effectually  thrown  over  these, 
that  the  most  wonderful  and  most  pregnant  with 
meaning  has  come  to  have  no  meaning  at  all,  if  only 
its  lesson  has  been  constantly  repeated  ;  according  to 

10 


218        TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

that  proverb,  "  "What  is  ever  seen  is  never  seen." 
Only  genius  detects  in  the  humblest  very  often  a  sig- 
nificant symbolism  of  the  highest,  and  finds  the  ever 
new  in  that  which  is  the  oldest  of  all.  Calderon  will 
endure  excellently  well  to  be  tried  by  this  test  of 
genius.  The  mystery  of  the  common,  the  symbolic 
character  of  many  of  our  most  ordinary  actions  and 
customs,  is  precious  to  him ;  and  he  constantly  seeks 
to  interpret  it  to  others,  and  not  to  suffer  it  to  pass 
by  them  unobserved.  The  ever-recurring  mystery  of 
sleep  and  waking  as  the  daily  rehearsal  of  death  and 
resurrection  ;*  the  dews  and  sunshine  of  earth,  cor- 
responding to  the  tears  and  laughter  of  those  that  are 
its  dwellers,!  or,  as  here,  the  likeness  of  the  tomb  to 

=*  Thus  in  Bebhazzar's  Feast : — 

Descanso  del  suefio  hace 

El  hoihbre,  ay  Dios  !  sin  que  advierta 

Que  quando  duerme,  y  despierta, 

Cada  dia  muere,  y  nace. 

Que  vivo  cadaver  yace 

Cada  dia,  pues  rendida 

La  vida  a  una  breve  homicida, 

Que  es  su  descanso  no  advierte 

Una  leccion,  que  la  muerte 

Le  va  estudiando  a  la  vida 

t  Al  tienipo  que  ya  la  salva 
Del  sol  estos  monies  dora 
Sale  riendo  la  aurora, 
Y  sale  llorando  el  alba ; 
Risa  y  lagi'imas  envia 
El  dia  al  amanecer, 
Para  darnos  d  entender 
Que  amenece  cada  dia 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.     219 

a  cradle  reversed  which  has  cast  out  its  inmate,*  all 
these  have  their  meaning  and  lesson  for  him ;  and  to 
this  meaning  and  lesson  he  recurs  again  and  again. 
Bat  to  return  to  our  own  matter,  which  is  now  rapid- 
ly drawing  to  its  end ;  but  yet  does  not  close  without 
some  further  characteristic  touches. 

Entre  linos  j  azucenas, 
Entre  rosas  j  jazraines, 
Para  dos  contrarios  fines 
De  contentos  y  de  penas. 

*  This  re-appears  in  The  Steadfast  Prince : — 
Bien  se  al  fin,  que  soy  mortal, 

Y  que  no  hay  hora  segara 

Y  por  eso  dio  una  forma 
Con  una  materia  en  una 
Semejanza  la  razon 

Al  ataud  y  ^  la  cuna. 
Accion  nuestra  es  natural, 
Cuando  recibir  procura 
Algo  un  hombre,  alzar  las  manos 
En  esta  manera  juntas  : 
Mas  cuando  quiere  aiTOJarlo, 
De  aquella  misma  accion  usa, 
Pues  las  vuelve  bocji  abajo, 
Porque  asi  las  desocupa. 
El  mundo,  cuando  naceraos, 
V  En  serial  de  que  nos  busca. 

En  la  cuna  nos  recibe, 

Y  en  ella  nos  asegura 
Boca  arriba ;  pero  cuando, 
O  con  desden,  6  con  furia, 
Quiere  arrojarnos  de  si, 
Vuelve  las  manos  que  junta, 

Y  aquel  instrumento  raismo 
Forma  esta  materia  muda ; 
Pues  fue  cuna  boca  arriba 
Lo  qae  boca  abajo  es  tamba. 


220       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 
BEGGAR. 

Since  the  world  in  this  rude  fashion 
From  its  bosom  thrusts  us  naked, 
Let  us  seek  that  splendid  feast, 
Which  has  been  prepared,  the  banquet 
Which  shall  recompense  our  toils. 

KING. 

Wilt  thou  too  afiront  my  greatness. 
Daring  thus  to  pass  before  me  ? 
Has  it  from  thy  memory  faded, 
Wretched  mendicant,  already 
That  thou  wast  my  slave  so  lately  ? 

BEGGAR. 

Now  that  thy  part  is  concluded. 
We  are  equal,  slave  and  master. 
In  this  vestry  of  the  tomb. 
What  thou  hast  been,  little  matters. 

KING. 

How  forgettest  thou  that  alms 
Yesterday  of  me  thou  cravest  ? 

BEGGAR. 

How  forgettest  thou  that  such 
Thou  refusedst  ? 


THE  GREAT  THEATRE  OF  THE  WORLD.     221 
BEAUTY. 

So  soon  failest 
Thou  in  the  respect  thou  owest 
Unto  me  as  richer,  fairer  ? 

DISCRETION. 

All  of  us  are  equal  now, 
Having  laid  aside  our  garments ; 
For  in  this  poor  winding  sheet 
No  distinction  more  remaineth. 

RICH  MAN. 

Do  you  go  before  me,  villain  ? 

HUSBANDMAN. 

Leave  this  foolish  dream  of  greatness ; 
For,  once  dead,  thou  art  the  shadow 
Of  the  sun  which  thou  wast  lately. 

RICH   MAN. 

Some  strange  fear  in  me  the  prospect 
Of  the  Author's  presence  wakens. 

BEGGAR. 

Author  of  the  earth  and  heaven, 
All  thy  company,  the  players. 
Who  that  briefest  comedy 
Played  of  human  life  so  lately, 
Are  arrived,  of  that  thy  promise 


222       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CALDERON. 

Mindful,  of  that  noble  banquet. 
Let  the  curtains  be  drawn  back, 
And  thy  glorious  seat  unveiled. 

With  music  the  celestial  globe  opens  once  more ; — 
but  the  little  which  remains  may  without  difficulty  be 
guessed ;  at  all  events  it  is  too  serious  and  solemn  to 
be  followed  into  its  details,  at  least  with  our  feelings 
and  associations — seriously  and  solemnly,  although 
this,  as  all  the  rest,  is  both  intended  and  carried  out 
by  the  great  Christian  poet,  my  brief  specimens  of 
whom  have  now  come  to  their  conclusion. 


APPENDIX 


A  Persian  proverb  says,  "  You  may  bring  a  nosegay  to 
the  town ;  but  you  can  not  bring  the  garden."  This  is  true, 
and  "  Beauties  of  Shakespeare,"  or  "  Beauties"  of  any  one 
eke  who  is  indeed  beautiful,  abundantly  attest  the  truth  of 
the  adage.  For  these  "  beauties"  are  in  the  first  place  but 
gathered  flowers,  instead  of  growing  flowers ;  and  then  be- 
sides, they  form  generally  the  most  insignificant  portion  of 
the  wealth,  whereof  they  are  presented  as  specimens  and 
representatives.  Still,  if  they  are  only  offered  and  accepted 
at  what  they  are  worth,  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should 
not  be  made ;  nor  should  I  object  to  "  Beauties  of  Calde- 
ron,"  if  any  one  were  to  bring  them  together.  At  the  same 
time,  the  few  extracts  from  him  which  form  the  present  ap- 
pendix, are  not  presented  in  this  sense,  or  under  this  aspect ; 
but  rather  to  give  the  reader,  who  may  know  of  him  only 
through  this  little  volume,  some  further  examples  besides 
the  few  which  the  notes  have  offered,  of  his  metres,  his  dic- 
tion, his  skill  in  wielding  and  calling  out  the  powers  of  his 
native  tongue.     I  have  of  course  sought  out  and  selected 


224  APPENDIX. 

passages  of  beauty,  as  being  those  by  which  he  would  be 
most  justly  represented. 

I.  It.  has  been  mentioned  already  that  assonants  consti- 
tute the  staple  of  his  verse.  Here  is  a  rich  and  poetical 
description  in  this  metre  of  a  great  armament  at  sea,  as  it 
appeared  to  one  who  beheld  it  slowly  advancing  from  a  dis- 
tance.    It  occurs  in  The  Steadfast  Prince : — 

Yo  lo  se,  porque  en  el  mar 
Una  maiiana,  a  la  hora 
Que  medio  dormido  el  sol, 
Atropellando  las  sombras 
Del  ocaso,  desmarana 
Sobre  jasmines  y  rosas 
Rubios  cabellos,  que  enjuga 
Con  panes  de  oro  a  la  aurora 
Lagrimas  de  fuego  y  nieve, 
Que  el  sol  convirtio  en  aljofar, 
Que  a  largo  trecho  del  agua 
Venia  una  gruesa  tropa 
De  naves  ;  si  bien  entonces 
No  pudo  la  vista  absorta 
Determinarse  a  decir 
Si  eran  naos,  6  si  eran  rocas  ; 
Porque  como  en  los  matices 
Stitiles  pinceles  logran 
Unos  vises,  unos  lejos, 
Que  en  perspectiva  dudosa 
Parecen  montes  tal  vez, 
Y  tal  ciudades  famosas, 


APPENDIX.  225 


Porque  la  distancia  siempre 
Monstruos  imposibles  forma, 
Asi  en  paises  azules 
Hicieron  luces  j  sombras, 
Confundiendo  mar  y  cielo 
Con  las  nubes  j  las  ondas, 
Itfil  engaiios  a  la  vista ; 
Pues  ella  entonces  curiosa, 
Solo  percibid  los  bultos, 

Y  no  distinguio  las  formas. 
Primero  nos  parecio, 
Viendo  que  sus  puntos  tocan 
Con  el  cielo,  que  eran  nubes, 
De  las  que  a  la  mar  se  arrojan 
A  concebir  en  zafir 

Lluvias,  que  en  cristal  abortan ; 

Y  fue  bien  pensado,  pues 
Esta  innumerable  copia 
Parecio  que  pretendia 
Sorberse  el  mar  gota  a  gota 
Luego  de  marinos  monstruos 
Nos  parecio  errante  copia, 
Que  a  acompanar  a  Neptune 
Salian  de  sus  alcobas  ; 
Pues  sacudiendo  las  velas, 
Que  son  del  viento  lisonja, 
Pensamos  que  sacudian 

Las  alas  sobre  las  olas. 
Ya  parecia  mas  cerca 
Una  inmensa  Babilonia, 
10* 


226  APPENDIX. 

De  quien  los  p  ensiles  fueron 

Flamulas,  que  el  viento  azotan. 

Aqui  ya  desenganada 

La  vista,  mejor  se  informa 

De  que  era  armada,  pues  vio 

A  los  sulcos  de  las  proas, 

Cuando  batidas  espumas 

Ya  se  encrespan,  ya  se  entorchan, 

Rizarse  montes  de  plata, 

De  cristal  cuajarse  rocas. 

■    In  TTie  Great  Zenobia,  the  captive  queen  answers  Aure- 
lian,  her  boastful  conqueror,  in  the  following  language : — 

Aureliano,  las  venganzas 
De  la  fortuna  son  estas, 
Que  ni  son  grandezas  tuyas, 
~  Ni  culpas  mias.     Pues  llegas 
A  conocer  sus  mudanzas, 
Valor  finge,  animo  muestra ; 
Que  manana  es  otro  dia, 

Y  a  una  breve  facil  vuelta 
Si  truecan  las  monarquias, 

Y  los  imperios  se  truecan. 
Vence  y  calla ;  pues  yo  sufro 

Y  espero ;  para  que  veas. 
Que,  pues  yo  no  desconfio. 

Sera  razon  que  tu  temas.  '^ 

No  la  ambicion  te  levante     " 
Tanto,  que  midiendo  esferas 
De  tu  misma  vanidad, 


APPENDIX.  227 

La  altura  te  desvanezca. 
Sale  el  alba  coronada 
De  rayos,  y  el  sol  despliega 
Al  mundo  cendales  de  oro, 
Que  enjuguen  llanto  de  perlas ; 
Sube  hasta  el  zenit ;  mas  luego 
Declina,  y  la  noche  negra 
Por  las  exequias  del  sol 
Doseles  de  luto  cuelga. 
Impelida  de  los  vientos 
Con  alas  de  lino  vuela 
Alta  nave,  presumiendo 
Todo  el  mar  pequena  esfera ; 

Y  en  un  punto,  en  un  instante 
Brama  el  viento,  el  mar  se  altera, 
Que  parece  que  sua  ondas 

Van  a  apagar  las  estrellas. 
El  dia  teme  la  noche, 
La  serenidad  espera 
La  borrasca,  el  gusto  vive 
A  espaldas  de  la  tristeza. 

11.  Little  fables,  or  other  narratives,  compositions  per- 
fectly rounded  and  complete  in  themselves,  occur  not  un- 
frequently  in  Calderon's  plays.  Here  is  a  beautiful  exam- 
ple, drawn  from  his  comedy.  The  Poor  Man  is  all  Plots : — 

Estaba  un  almendro  ufano 
De  ver,  que  su  pompa  era 
Alba  de  la  primavera, 

Y  manana  del  verano ; 


228  -  APPENDIX. 

Y  viendo  su  sombra  vana, 

Que  el  viento  en  penachos  mueve 
Hojas  de  purpura  j  nieve, 
Aves  de  carmin  y  grana, 
Tanto  se  desvanecio, 
Que,  Narciso  de  las  flores,     * 
Empezo  a  decirse  amores ; 
Cuando  un  lirio  humilde  vio, 
A  quien  vano  dijo  asi : 
Flor,  que  magestad  no  quieres, 
I'No  te  desmayas  y  mueres 
De  invidia  de  verme  a  mi  ? 
Soplo  en  esto  el  austro  fiero, 

Y  desvanecio  cruel 
Toda  la  pompa,  que  a  el 
Le  desvanecio  primero. 
Vio,  que  caduco  y  helado 
Diluvios  de  hojas,  derrama, 
Seco  tronco,  inutil  rama, 
Yerto  cadaver  del  prado. 
Volvio  al  lirio,  que  guardaba 
Aquel  verdor  que  tenia, 

Y  contra  la  tirania 

Del  tiempo  se  conservaba, 

Y  dijole :  venturoso 

Tu,  que  en  uno  estado  estas 
Permaneciente,  jamas 
Envidiado,  ni  envidioso. 
Tu  vivir  solo  es  vivir. 
No  llegues  a  florecer, 


APPENDIX.  229 


Porque  tener  que  perder, 
Solo  es  tener  que  sentir. 


Again,  of  what  exquisite  lyric  beauty,  of  what  perfect 
finish  and  completeness  in  itself,  is  the  following  address  to 
the  cross,  in  the  play  called  The  Devotion  of  the  Cross, 
which  has  been  referred  to  already. 

Arbol,  donde  el  cielo  quiso 
Dar  el  fruto  verdadero 
Contra  el  bocado  primero, 
Flor  del  nuevo  paraiso, 
Arco  de  luz,  cuyo  aviso 
En  pielago  mas  profundo 
La  paz  publico  del  mundo, 
Planta  hermosa,  fertil  vid, 
Harpa  del  nuevo  David, 
Tabla  del  Moises  segundo : 
Pecador  soy,  tus  favores 
Pido  por  justicia  yo, 
Pues  Dios  en  ti  padecio 
Solo  por  los  pecadores, 
A  mi  me  debes  tus  loores. 
Que  por  mi  solo  muriera 
Dios,  si  mas  mundo  no  hubiera.* 

m.  A  considerable  number  of  sonnets  are  scattered  up 

and  down  through  Calderon's  plays.     Some  of  these  are 

among  the  best  which  the  literature  of  Spain  possesses. 

*  They  may  be  rendered  thus  : — 

Trep,  which  Hcnvcn  has  willed  to  dower 


280'  APPENDIX. 

This,  it  is  true,  is  not  in  itself  very  high  commendation ; 
for  Spanish  poetry,  while  it  possesses  an  almost  innumera- 
ble multitude  of  sonnets,  yet  can  boast  of  very  few  which 
are  of  first  rate  excellence,  which  will  at  all  bear  compari- 
son with  the  great  Italian  or  English  poems  in  this  kind. 
Calderon's  sonnets  are  sometimes  found  in  pairs,  set  one 
over  against  the  other,  and  corresponding  to,  or  mutually 
completing  each  other,  as  these  two,  beautiful  in  themselves, 
but  deriving  added  beauty  from  the  circumstances  of  those 
that  speak  them. 

Estas,  que  fueron  pompa  y  alegria, 
Despertando  al  albor  de  la  manana, 
A  la  tarde  seran  lastima  vana, 
Durmiendo  en  brazos  de  la  noche  fria. 
Este  matiz,  que  al  cielo  desafia, 
Iris  listado  de  oro,  nieve  y  grana. 
Sera  escarmiento  de  la  vida  humana, 
Tanto  se  emprende  en  termino  de  un  dia. 

With  that  true  fruit  whence  we  live, 
As  that  other,  death  did  give ; 
Of  new  Eden  loveliest  flower ; 
Bow  of  light,  that  in  worst  hour 
Of  the  worst  flood  signal  true 
O'er  the  world,  of  mercy  threw ; 
Fair  plant,  yielding  sweetest  wine ; 
Of  our  David  harp  divine ; 
•  Of  our  Moses  tables  new ; 

Sinner  am  I,  therefore  I 
Claim  upon  thy  mercies  make, 
Since  alone  for  sinners'  sake 
God  on  thee  endured  to  die  ; 
And  for  me  would  God  have  died 
Had  there  been  no  world  beside. 


APPENDIX.  231 

A  florecer  las  rosas  madrugaron, 

Y  para  envejecerse  florecieron 

Cuna  y  sepulcro  en  un  boton  hallaron. 

Tales  los  hombres  sus  fortunas  vieron, 

En  un  dia  nacieron  j  espiraron, 

Que  pasados  los  siglos,  horas  fueron. 
This,  which  laments  the  brevity  of  the  life  of  the  flowers, 
finds  its  counterpart  in  the  twin  sonnet,  which  mourns  over 
that  of  the  stars  as  briefer  still. 

Esos  rasgos  de  luz,  esas  centeUas, 
Que  cobran  con  amagos  superiores 
Ahmentos  del  sol  en  resplandores, 
Aquello  viven,  que  se  duellen  dellas, 
Flores  noctumas  son,  aunque  tan  bellas, 
Efimeras  padecen  sus  ardores ; 
Pues  si  un  dia  es  el  siglo  de  las  flores, 
Una  noche  es  la  edad  de  las  estrellas. 
De  esa  pues  primavera  fugitiva 
Ya  nuestro  mal,  ya  nuestro  bien  se  infiere, 
Registro  es  nuestro,  6  muera  el  sol,  6  viva. 
(J  Que  duracion  habra  que  el  hombre  espere  ? 
I O  que  mudanza  habra,  que  no  reciba 
De  astro,  que  cada  noche  nace  y  muere  ? 

And  the  following  is  good : — 

Apenas  el  inviemo  helado  y  cano 
Este  monte  de  nieves  encanece, 
Cuando  la  primavera  le  florece, 

Y  el  que  helado  se  vio,  se  mira  ufano. 
Pasa  la  primavera,  y  el  verano 


2S2  APPENDIX. 

Los  rigores  del  sol  sufre  y  padece. 

Llega  el  fertil  otono,  y  enriquece 

El  monte  de  verdor,  de  fruta  el  llano. 

Todo  vive  sujeto  a  la  mudanza ; 

De  un  dia  y  otro  dia  los  engaiios 

Cumplen  un  ano,  y  este  al  otro  alcanza. 

Con  esperanza  sufre  desenganos 

Un  monte,  que,  a  faltarle  la  esperanza, 

Ya  se  rindiera  al  peso  de  los  anos. 

IV.  Nothing  can  be  more  exquisite  than  the  little  frag- 
ments of  song,  tiny  drops  of  melody,  which  yet  sometimes 
reflect  a  whole  world  of  thought  and  feeling,  which  are 
scattered  through  his  plays.  Here  are  a  few — what  depth 
as  well  as  beauty  is  in  the  second ! 


Las  flores  del  romero, 

Nina  Isabel, 

Hoy  son  flores  azules, 

Y  manana  seran  miel. 

II. 

Es  el  engano  traidor, 

Y  el  desengaiio  leal ; 
El  uno  dolor  sin  mal, 

Y  el  otro  mal  sin  dolor. 


Aprended,  flores,  de  mi 
Lo  que  va  de  ayer  a  hoy ; 


APPENDIX.  288 

Que  ayer  maravilla  fui, 

Y  hoy  sombra  mia  aun  no  soy. 

IV. 

Ruisenor,  que  volando  vas, 
Cantando  finezas,  cantando  favores, 
O  quanta  pena  y  envidia  me  das ; 
Pero  no ;  que  si  hoy  cantas  amores, 
Tu  tendras  zelos,  y  tu  lloraras. 

V. 

No  es  menester  que  digais 
Cuyas  sois,  mis  alegi'ias ; 
Que  bien  se  ve,  que  sois  mias, 
En  lo  poco  que  durais. 


THE  END. 


^r 


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#     4 


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